


Let the River Run

by Seahare



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: A Normal-Ass Fic With One Chapter That's All Kinky Sex, Aftermath of Firearm Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, Canon-Typical Lack of Research, Canon-Typical Wardrobe Abuse, Cutting, Dialogue Heavy, Episode: s03e24 A Devil of My Word, Episode: s03e25 Boo Normal, Flogging, Graphic Description of Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Lack of Author Restraint, Lack of Character Restraint, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Bottom Dan Espinoza, Self-Harm, Sensation Play, Service Top Lucifer, Subspace, Technically Songfic, Whump, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wing Reveal, handjobs, ptsd (mention), tawsing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seahare/pseuds/Seahare
Summary: “Okay, enough with the divine influence or mojo or whatever it is you’re doing to me,” Dan snarled, his voice rough. “Fine, I’ll have sex with you. Happy?”Lucifer’s fingers brushed several random keys in a startled discordance and he closed the piano lid with a firm clack. “Certainly, Daniel. If you want. What brought this on?”Dan waved his hands, helplessly. “You know perfectly well what.”“Do I?”“It’s your wings, isn’t it? Yousaidthey had an effect on mortals,” Dan said.[In which Chloe has a lot to process, Lucifer has a problem that he can't solve on his own, and somehow it's Dan's responsibility to deal with it, because of course it is. Picks up immediately post-S3E24, last chapter takes place directly following E25, "Boo Normal", which this fic treats as sequential.]





	1. David Esperanza

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Seahare’s Mindless Self-Indulgence Emporium, where we go hog wild with all the fanfic tropes of our misspent youth in a doomed effort to get them out of our system so we can write something serious!
> 
> Post-Canon Fix-It! Classic H/C! Angst and Talking About Our Feels! Porn! Not Actually Sex Pollen! Songfic! Carly Simon! References to an 80s film that time (correctly) forgot! And much, much more! All for the low, low price of... enabling me. Thanks, AO3!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific content warnings: references to violence incl. gun violence, injury, hospitals.

It wasn’t the worst day of Dan Espinoza’s entire life, but it was up there, definitely in the top ten, and even with the week he’d been having, he felt like it had potential to climb the charts.

When his call to Chloe had disconnected, the phone’s mic just barely picking up some popping sounds that could have been distant gunfire, Dan’s first impulse was to drop everything and go straight to her. Ella, reasonably, pointed out that backup was already on the way, SWAT would be there in just a few minutes and one way or another, it would all be over long before he’d be able to get across town. And of course, there was Pierce's man to deal with: John Barrow, according to the set of prints Detroit had run. After a brief argument Dan agreed to take Barrow downtown for processing while Ella went to the address Barrow had given them to see what she could find out. Much as Dan hated to admit it, Ella had a better chance of being admitted to the scene. But...

“Do you even have a car?” Dan asked.

“I'll take one of Lucifer's.” At the look on Dan's face, she quickly added, “He won't mind, he thinks it's funny when I steal his cars.” Which kind of left Dan with more questions he didn't have time to ask. At least Barrow went quietly, zip-cuffed and silent, nothing more to say now that his game was played out, for which Dan was grateful.

After a tense drive, Dan handed Barrow over to booking without incident. He was half-expecting to be taken into custody himself, but apparently Pierce either hadn’t been thinking that far ahead, or hadn’t considered his plan might fail. Dan found the station in an uproar, the precinct rumor mill grinding happily away. By the time he’d done his half of Barrow's intake paperwork, the first bit of real information to come in was that Marcus Pierce was dead. The second was that Chloe had been _shot_ and was on her way to the hospital, which definitely pushed Dan's day into the top five worst, and no one had gotten in his way after that.

Running as many red lights as he dared, he managed to beat the ambulance, which meant he couldn’t actually see Chloe until she’d been processed and assigned to a bed. This left Dan pacing the ER waiting area with nothing to do and too much to think about. Fortunately, Ella called, so he didn’t have to choose between reading a 2012 issue of _People_ magazine and going completely insane.

“Oh my God,” she said when he picked up, “can you believe we’re all suspended? Like, come on, we’re the only reason Pierce didn’t use his freakin’ crimeboss network to totally disappear to Mozambique or somewhere, and they cut us off, ‘pending investigation’. That’s cold, man. Ice cold.”

“Suspended isn’t fired,” Dan said, although he couldn’t quite stop himself from adding, “Yet, anyway. It’s out of our hands, and will probably be in the FBI’s by the end of the day. I’ll turn over Char-... I’ll turn over the files I’ve got when I know who to hand them to,” he finished, angry at himself for stumbling over her name.

“Aw, Dan,” Ella said compassionately, at the same time the overhead PA paged someone to Radiology. “Hey, are you at the hospital?”

Dan rubbed the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t slept in two days. Three? “Yeah, I heard Chloe was on her way here but no one’s told me anything yet.”

“Oh! Dude! She’s okay! My bad, I shoulda told you that first. I mean, I talked to her before she went with the ambulance. She was kinda shocky but fine, she took one in the vest. She was out for a couple of minutes after she got hit, I think they wanted to give her some tests or something? Blood oxygen? But she’s fine.” Dan went quiet for so long that Ella thought the call had disconnected. “Dan? Hello?”

Dan had slumped into a wall with relief. “Yeah, I’m still here,” he said. “Maybe lead with that next time.”

Ella laughed nervously. “I’m so sorry, it didn’t occur to me that you didn’t know. It’s… uh, yeah, it’s been a day. What-all have you heard?”

Dan tried to organize his thoughts, still leaning against the wall. It was probably more comfortable than one of the bolted-down plastic chairs. “After they told me Chloe got shot I kind of stopped paying attention,” he admitted. “Uh, there was a shootout, Pierce is dead, his guys are in custody and giving up names of other people in his organization, including a bunch of cops. Pretty much all I know.”

Ella made an impressed sound. “Yeah, Pierce’s men were like, totally messed up. The whole scene is a giant feather-sprinkled disaster. Whatever happened, something really put the fear of God into those guys, the two that were conscious when SWAT kicked the doors in were trying to confess to anyone that would hold still. Not just that they’d been brought in for the ambush, either, but like, all their crimes.”

That reminded Dan of something, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Trying to reduce their sentences before they’ve even been charged?” he wondered aloud. “I’d figured the Sinnerman’s guys would be hardened criminal types, they’d clam up and wait for lawyers. The guy he sent after me was cool as ice, didn’t say a word all the way back to the station.”

“Yeah, well, these two were desperate to spill their guts. Not my department so I didn’t talk to them, but whoof, can’t say I blame them. Whatever went down at that rotunda was big and loud and super _weird_ , man.”

“How so?”

“Okay, like, first of all, tons of firepower. So much freakin’ overkill. I’m talking fully automatic, I’m talking hella illegal. We got a UMP and a TEC-9 off the goons… are we still calling them goons? ‘Sinnermen’?” Ella paused. “Mmm, nope. Let’s go with goons.”

“I’m fine with goons,” Dan said, not sure how many details he was going to be able to retain but swept up as always in Ella’s enthusiastic account of events.

“Well, ballistics will be able to sort out the timeline here, but at a glance, it looks like the goons turned on each other, and also shot a lot of rounds at something in the middle of the floor. Something which might or might not have been covered in feathers and which might or might not have crushed our former lieutenant’s wrist.”

Dan had to have misheard that. “What?”

“Some kind of machine, maybe? Or a weird sculpture? A lot of spooky antiquities around. Oh, also something broke the window on the stair landing from the outside, crashed down the stairs, and landed on the guy who’s in surgery now. We think. Like I said, it’s weird. Good luck figuring that one out without me, guys.”

Dan sighed. “Didn’t Chloe… or, well, no, I guess she was out for some of it. But the other goons must be able to explain what happened, right?”

“Well, yes and no,” Ella said. “Which is why they’re all at the hospital, even the guy who didn’t seem injured. They’re giving up names, sure, but they’re also handing in a load of nonsense, all kinds of stuff about the Bible and immortality and…”

Dan covered his phone with his hand. A nurse’s aide had popped his head into the waiting room area, and was saying “Esperanza? David Esperanza?”

“Sorry,” he said to Ella, “I got to go. They’re calling me. Sort of.”

Ella giggled. “Okay, ‘Esperanza’. Talk later, say hi to Chloe for me,” she said, and hung up, just as it occurred to Dan that it was weird that neither of them had mentioned Lucifer. But before he could follow up on that thought, he was being taken to his ex-wife’s room, which was only a short distance down the hall. She’d been 10 yards away. Seeing Chloe in a hospital bed was something a lot of Dan’s worst days had in common, but also one of the best. Sitting upright and making eye contact was definitely a positive sign, overall. Dan smiled.

“Hey,” she said. Her voice was a little weak, but she seemed mostly okay, and Dan felt like he could take a deep breath for the first time since he’d called her to warn her they were walking into an ambush.

“Hey,” he replied. He knew what information she’d want from him first. “Your mom’s getting Trixie out of school, they’ll be here in thirty minutes or less.”

“I think I’m just waiting on X-rays and a prescription,” she said, a little ruefully. “You didn’t have to get Trix out of school. They’re gonna let me go, but I probably cracked a rib. It hurts when I breathe.”

“Mmm. Maybe you should try not doing that,” Dan said, deadpan.

Chloe made a soft, amused sound, then groaned. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh,” she said. “Seriously.”

“Sorry,” Dan said. “I’m just… really glad it’s not worse.” He grabbed a chair and scooted it next to the bed, making a loud enough scraping noise that one of the nurse’s station attendants glared at him through the doorway. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“I already gave a preliminary statement,” Chloe said, a little warily. “The punch in the chest put me down, I was out for a lot of it. I didn’t see actually see what happened to Mar-... Pierce.” She shook her head, carefully. “I hate being out of the loop. Any idea what people are saying so far?”

“Ella was just telling me it doesn't seem like anyone has a clear idea what happened, and the men who were with Pierce might not be competent to give statements." He rubbed his eyes. The fluorescent lights were starting to get to him. "God, what a mess. But I’m not asking as a cop, Chlo, I’m asking as a friend. Is there anything you need me to take care of?” He emphasized the last three words oddly, and looking into his sharp blue eyes, Chloe knew that Dan wasn’t talking about fetching her a glass of water or getting another chair. For a second, she thought about telling him what she’d seen… but no, he wouldn’t believe her, just like she hadn’t believed.

The moment passed. “Well,” Dan said. “You don’t have to go over it again if you don’t want to. Thank God you wore your vest.”

Her eyes unfocused briefly at that, as she stared past him. “Yeah. Thank someone, anyway,” she said, after too long a pause. She swallowed. “Is Lucifer okay?”

“Uh…” Dan got that strange dissonant feeling again, but this time he could place it. No one had mentioned Lucifer since they left the penthouse. Not Ella, not anyone, which was... weird, now that he thought about it. On a normal day, he was constantly hearing about Lucifer, even when he tried to avoid him. And Lucifer clearly knew more than he was letting on about the Sinnerman, he was up to his neck in this mess, he should be right in the middle of things. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Dan said, automatically.

Chloe wasn’t having it. “Dan,” she said, sitting up a little straighter with a wince. “Can you find out? For me? I think...” Another pause. “I’m pretty sure he’s hurt.”

“Wouldn’t be be,” Dan’s gesture took in the hospital room, “here, somewhere? If he’d been injured?”

“I… I sent him away,” she said. “From the scene. It was… it was really complicated, and I didn’t think I could explain... “ Chloe squeezed her eyes shut. “I might have made a really bad mistake.”

“You sent him away from an active crime scene? That's…” _not a mistake, that’s a catastrophe_ , Dan was going to say, Lucifer was at _minimum_ a key witness and at worst a suspect in Lt. Marcus Pierce’s death, if he wasn’t getting arrested right now he was definitely about to be. “...Not going to look good,” Dan finished.

Chloe just stared at him. Her _Yes, Dan, I know_ expression was as easy to read as it had been when they were married. “Dan,” she said. “Look, I… I need to know where he is, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to have to stay here. I'm sorry to put this on you, but can you please just try to find him? Before he does anything..." Dan watched her cycle through potential descriptors and settle on "Lucifer-y?" She gave him a thin smile. "Hopefully he’s just back at his place.”  
  
Which would have been a completely ridiculous thing to do, but of course, it was silly to imagine normal-person rules applied to Lucifer Morningstar. “Fine,” Dan said, suppressing a sigh. He stood up, scraping the chair over the floor again and earning another death glare from the nurses’ station. “I’ll track him down. I’m sure someone knows where he is.”

There was another one of those measured hesitations. “Be careful,” Chloe said, quietly.


	2. Leave This Out of the Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sure I can handle anything Maze can handle,” Dan started to say, but trailed off. “Look, I promised Chloe. If you don't want to go to the ER, I won't force you. Can I call someone for you? Let me do something to help," he pleaded, as Lucifer stared at him with burning intensity.
> 
> “Do you really mean that, Daniel?” Lucifer said, leaning forward so Dan was forced to look him in the eyes. “Is that truly what you desire?”
> 
> Dan was almost offended. First, that Lucifer was trying to work that mentalist bullshit on him, and second, that he was being so clumsy about it. But getting annoyed wasn’t going to get Lucifer help any faster. He was inclined to say whatever he needed to say to get Lucifer to let go of that wicked-looking knife and come quietly to the hospital, and opened his mouth to do exactly that. But what came out was… something else. “I don’t know what happened to you,” Dan said, looking into Lucifer’s eyes, “and Chloe, but I think… that you saved her life. And avenged Charlotte. I want to help you. I owe you. I’ll do whatever it is you need, whether it’s legal or… or not,” Dan finished, and blinked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific content warnings: Self-harm, graphic self-injury, graphic description of wounds, blood, medical cutting, more blood, alcohol, and deeply inappropriate sex jokes. Earns its E rating in a hurry at the end. Also Dan swears a lot. This is _long_ and _gross_ and probably no one should read it; enjoy!

Finding their erstwhile consultant proved to be easier said than done. Dan tried Lucifer’s cellphone, only to have it drop the call without even going to voicemail. He wasn’t in the hospital anywhere; that, at least, was easy to establish, with two of Pierce’s goons in the ICU, one in the ER, and Pierce himself presumably downstairs in a drawer somewhere. No one else had been brought into the hospital from the scene. Alive or otherwise, which had been Dan’s first thought when it became apparent that Lucifer was missing.

Dan went back to the station. Lucifer had been right in the middle of the showdown at the rotunda; if he wasn’t receiving medical attention, he should be in custody or at least in an interview room somewhere giving a statement, but no one had seen him. More concerning, no one else even seemed to be looking for him. As Dan tried department after department for information, he was struck by the total lack of curiosity his colleagues exhibited for Lucifer’s whereabouts. It seemed increasingly likely that Lucifer was the only one awake and alert who knew exactly what had happened, and should be on the receiving end of a manhunt for that reason alone, but he’d vanished.

No one was handling the daytime phone at LUX either. Dan tried going to the club in person, only to be told that the owner was still out and hadn’t left any indication of when he’d be back. At which point, Dan nearly gave up. Two things stopped him: first, Chloe had asked him only one favor, after he’d accidentally sent her into a lethal trap, and secondly… well, if he gave up the search once all the obvious leads were exhausted, there’d be nothing left to do but go home. And Dan wanted to be anywhere but home alone right now. So, fine: he was a detective, he could detect Lucifer Morningstar if he was still anywhere in Los Angeles.

In the end he had to enlist Ella, who was chafing at being sidelined from the investigation and eager to help. Dan still had the list he’d made of Lucifer’s L.A. properties, and they split it geographically: he went west, she went south. Getting a set of keys from Lucifer’s residential property manager was a simple matter of showing a badge and expressing exactly the right level of concern, without ever using any phrases like “welfare check” that would necessitate the generation of a paper trail. Or demands for a warrant. Dan wasn’t so far removed from his darkest days that he’d forgotten the steps of the plausible-deniability dance. The fact that it was exactly the sort of lie by omission that Lucifer himself would appreciate wasn’t an irony that was lost on Dan.

He checked two places off the list without any luck. The house on Carbon Mesa Drive was the third on his half of the list. Dan hated driving in Malibu, and he was honestly expecting the “Devil” to have disappeared. Off to Vegas again, or Mexico or hell, the moon. The Trousdale and Gateway properties had shown no sign of habitation, and building maintenance at both sites confirmed that the owner hadn’t been seen in months.

Dan entered the gate code and crunched up yet another perfectly even pea-gravel driveway. He peered into the garage as he walked up to the front entrance. No vehicles parked. He set the key in the front door lock, expecting another vacant residence… but as he opened the door, something fluttered down from where it had been trapped in the doorframe: a small white feather.

Dan looked more closely at it. No, it was a small, broken-off piece of a very large white feather, tackily crimson along its edge. He wished he’d brought Ella with him. She’d undoubtedly have an explanation, possibly involving a terrible car accident and an escaped albino peacock from the nearby botanical gardens. But the origin of the feather was less important than the fact that the front door had open and shut more recently than blood could dry. Someone was here, or had been here, today. Dan eased the door quietly open and stepped inside.

The house, like all the properties Lucifer owned, was an open-plan ultramodern, lightly furnished and sparsely decorated. Just inside the front door, another broken feather had incongruously fallen, faintly luminous in the dimmer light indoors, as though it was catching a beam of golden-hour sunlight all by itself. Dan continued into the house. As the foyer opened into a sitting room, there was a very nice bar built into the wall, topped with a single slab of varnished oak. A couple of decanters were lined up on it, one empty, and one mostly empty. There was also a shirt, not folded or draped neatly but crumpled and tossed behind the bar like trash. Dan made a face. He wasn’t an expert in fine menswear by a long shot but he knew what some of Lucifer’s shirts were worth.

A floorboard creaked under his boot. Around the corner of the bar there was a sound Dan couldn’t identify, like a branch breaking, but… wetter. And a sharp indrawn-breath sound, more than a gasp but less than a scream, followed by Lucifer’s strained voice saying “Detective?”

Well, that probably wasn’t good. “Lucifer?” Dan replied. “Are you okay?” Just past the bar was a doorway leading to a kitchen, and Dan hurried around the corner.

“Ah. Douche,” Lucifer said, in a more normal tone, not bothering to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Of course it’s you. Here to arrest me, are you?” he asked. It was a very nice, sleek modern kitchen with an island counter and polished steel fixtures, but Dan wasn’t paying attention to the decor because Lucifer was standing over the sink, shirtless, wild-eyed, with a bloody knife in his hand.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dan muttered, taking a quick, instinctive step back.

“Do you know, you couldn’t _possibly_ be more wrong?” Lucifer said. “Why are you _here_?” he demanded.

Lucifer was clearly in some sort of crisis, he was armed, and Dan was a cop. “Look, man,” he said, moving his hand away from his weapon, where it had automatically gone at the sight of the knife. “Calm down, let’s just talk. Okay? I’m not here to arrest you. As far as I know, no one’s even looking for you. Chloe sent me, actually.” Dan kept his voice soft and nonthreatening.

“Chloe sent you to find me,” Lucifer repeated slowly, like he was having trouble following the words. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah. I talked to her like two hours ago. She’s bruised, maybe cracked a rib, but she’s okay.” Dan could see some of the tension ebb out of Lucifer. “What about you?” he asked, flicking his eyes at a shallow gash creasing Lucifer’s left upper arm. “Are you hurt? Were you hit?”

That not-technically-lying look of concentration flickered over Lucifer’s face. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

Dan tried to figure out what on earth “it’s complicated” could possibly mean as an answer to “were you shot”, and gave up immediately. “How bad is it? Is it just the arm?”

Lucifer glanced at the cut on his arm like he’d forgotten it was there. “What? No, that’s from…” but Dan didn’t hear what it was from, because Lucifer lifting his elbow slightly to peer at his arm revealed that blood had sheeted down his back from under his left shoulder, soaking his belt and the band of his trousers, and scattering in drops on the tile. Dan couldn’t see the wound itself, but… shit, that was a lot of blood.

“Fuck,” Dan said. “What did you do?” But it was obvious enough. Chloe had always believed Lucifer’s father was responsible for the scars on his back, but Dan felt like this pretty much confirmed Lucifer had mutilated himself, and was continuing to do so at intervals. “No, never mind, it doesn’t matter, you need help. Stitches, probably. It’s okay, man, we can take care of this. Let’s just go, okay?”

Lucifer was shaking his head in firm denial, but as far as Dan was concerned, _why is Lucifer acting weird_ was a puzzle with one solution. “Dude, EMTs aren’t going to care about whatever it is you took, you’re not gonna get in trouble for being on drugs. Come on, we’ll go in my car.”

Dan approached Lucifer carefully, watching his hands. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get stabbed, at least. Lucifer seemed to keep forgetting he was holding a weapon, which was consistent with Dan’s drug-fueled self-injury episode theory. He let Lucifer lean on him for support, trying to keep away from wherever the blood was coming from, and Lucifer followed along docilely enough all the way back to the bar, where Dan left him upright and swaying so he could grab the shirt he’d seen earlier. If Lucifer was going to treat it like garbage, it could at least help keep blood off his upholstery.

Picking up the rumpled shirt behind the bar, Dan could immediately see it wasn’t just wrinkled or soiled, it was ruined. Holes were punched erratically through both front panels, and as Dan lifted it, he could smell cordite. Dan’s mind just blanked out for a second at this impossible detail. Those couldn’t be _bullet_ holes. Even with a vest on, Lucifer would be _extremely dead_ if he’d been hit this many times. Kevlar broke down under repeated impacts and as Chloe and Dan both knew, the deflected force of one bullet could break bone. Break enough ribs, or bend a broken rib the wrong way, and you couldn’t inflate your lungs. Lucifer couldn’t have been wearing this shirt when… “What are you doing?” Dan asked.

Lucifer had stumbled to the bar, reaching for the decanter that still had some liquor in it. As Dan watched, he knocked it back like Trixie with chocolate milk. “I appreciate the… kindness, Daniel,” Lucifer began, sounding not very sincere, “but there’s really nothing you can do. Maze will help, if she ever comes back.” Lucifer sighed. “Or she might want to kill me. It’s hard to be sure with Maze. It's none of your concern in any case, Douche. Just… go home, would you?”

“I’m sure I can handle anything Maze can handle,” Dan started to say, but trailed off. “Look, I promised Chloe. If you don't want to go to the ER, I won't force you. Can I call someone for you? Let me do  _something_ to help," he pleaded, as Lucifer stared at him with burning intensity.

“Do you _really_ mean that, Daniel?” Lucifer said, leaning forward so Dan was forced to look him in the eyes. “Is that _truly_ what you desire?”

Dan was almost offended. First, that Lucifer was trying to work that mentalist bullshit on him, and second, that he was being _so clumsy_ about it. But getting annoyed wasn’t going to get Lucifer help any faster. He was inclined to say whatever he needed to say to get Lucifer to let go of that wicked-looking knife and come quietly to the hospital, and opened his mouth to do exactly that. But what came out was… something else. “I don’t know what happened to you,” Dan said, looking into Lucifer’s eyes, “and Chloe, but I think… that you saved her life. And avenged Charlotte. I want to help you. I owe you. I’ll do whatever it is you need, whether it’s legal or… or not,” Dan finished, and blinked.

“ _Really_ ,” Lucifer said, taken aback. Dan was more than a little shocked, himself. Where had that come from? He’d been ready to arrest the guy three minutes ago, and now he was swearing an oath of fealty? But… yeah. He could still hear Chloe’s voice in his mind. _Pierce, he tried to kill us._ Pierce brought four men with automatic and semi-automatic weapons to kill one detective and an unarmed civilian. It was a miracle that Chloe and Lucifer were alive, and Dan didn’t have to struggle to think of another impossible situation that Lucifer had somehow gotten Chloe out of.

“Yeah. Really,” he said. Lucifer was quiet for a long time, like he was weighing something in his mind. Dan didn’t feel compelled to interrupt.

“Very well.” Lucifer finally said. “If you truly mean that, there is something you could help me with,” he said, reluctantly. “It might… have an effect on you, though.”

Dan shook his head. “Um, I don’t think taking more drugs is a good idea.”

Lucifer laughed softly, then winced. It was so similar to what Chloe had done earlier that Dan wondered if maybe he did have some damaged ribs and the bruising just wasn’t visible yet. “No offense, Daniel, but you wouldn’t be my first choice of trip sitter,” he said. “No, I mean, I might be about to show you something that will drive you out of your mortal wits.”

Dan sighed. The metaphor thing again. “Whatever, Lucifer. I haven’t slept since Friday. I haven’t got any wits left to lose.”

“Oh,” Lucifer said, startled at Dan’s ready agreement with that frank assessment of his mental capacity. “In that case... you may want to step back.” Dan did so, backing up to the couch as Lucifer leaned forward and gripped the bar. “This is going to bloody hurt,” he muttered.

If Chloe had been present, she would have recognized Lucifer’s expression, although she would have described it as “gassy”. Lucifer’s hands on the edge of the bar trembled, and without warning, a pair of wings erupted from between his shoulder blades, the movement both impossible and sickeningly organic. It was like a time-lapse video of an insect moulting, too fast and too slow at the same time. Lucifer’s groan wasn’t enough to cover the wet, snapping-tendon sound the wings made as they emerged, and his knuckles went white on the edge of the bartop as his knees threatened to give out.

There was a thud from behind him as Dan’s knees also took the opportunity to buckle, to no one’s surprise. What did surprise Lucifer was that he immediately got up, swearing uncreatively but with great vehemence, and took a step toward him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Dan said. “It’s not true, it can’t all be _fucking true_.” But there was no denying the reality of the wings. They weren’t superimposed on Lucifer, they were unmistakably a part of him, trembling as they spread out behind him, shifting slightly with his breath and heartbeat. Real, alive, and horrifically damaged; it seemed like there was hardly a feather that wasn’t broken, twisted, or splashed with drying gore. Dan’s thoughts crashed into each other, got in each other’s way: _He’s really the Devil, just like he always said_ collided with _Everything I know is wrong_ and _God, that must hurt_. The terrible knowledge settled into Dan, a huge, uncertain weight and another notch on his personal worst-day-ever chart. It was too much to try to take in at a glance, and Lucifer didn’t give Dan any time.

Lucifer took several deep breaths, as though he was struggling to get his voice under control before trying to speak, and sat down heavily on a barstool. The wings trembled with the abrupt motion, and Lucifer finally put the knife down, setting it carefully on the bartop and pushing it toward Dan. “Can you,” he said raggedly, “help me cut them off? I tried, but before… I could barely do it myself, and now I can’t manage to raise my arms up enough.” He laughed, a sound with no joy in it.

“Cut them off? Lucifer, _what the fuck_.” Dan looked at the ornate tiger’s-claw blade like it might lunge at him, all by itself. And now, in the context of the beautiful, terrible wings, the blood dripping from Lucifer’s back made sense: he’d tried to cut his wing off, had hooked the curved blade into the join where the underside of the wing met his body, but was in too much pain to complete the movement. Dan made a nauseated sound in the back of his throat.

“I’ve done it before. Several times, actually, the bloody things kept growing back. First time was the worst,” Lucifer said, a little defensive. “It's easy as anything, Daniel. That blade will go through bone like a… like a spoon through pudding, I promise.” He swallowed audibly, realizing he was begging, and tried for a milder tone. “They’re ruined now, anyway, just look at them.”

Dan took the Devil at his word. He gently grasped the wing closest to him, pulling it toward him by the “wrist”, noticing as he did so that the outermost feathers, intact or not, had gleaming razor edges that he was careful to avoid. Lucifer made a sound as the elbow joint extended with a soft crackle of damaged sinew. “Sorry,” Dan said, absently. The feathers were both softer and denser than bird feathers, more like velvety overlapping scales. It was hard to pull the barbels apart, even on the broken ones, but Dan was able to lift them to look at the skin underneath. Lucifer didn’t move as Dan traced several ugly bloodsprays back to their source, ragged but strangely clean holes in the flesh. He pressed around one experimentally, feeling a hard, foreign lump buried in the muscle. He carefully worked his way under the feathers, feeling along the long bones. There were a lot more holes, most of them associated with those jarring lumps. Much of the visible damage and all of the penetrating wounds were restricted to the outside, forward portion of the wings, which Dan mentally mapped to forearms and hands.

Dan was a homicide detective and even in this bizarre context, he knew what he was looking at. He’d seen it mostly in dead people. Defensive wounds, the instinctive last-ditch effort of someone unarmed and trying protect their head and vitals from a weapon. _They shot a lot of rounds at something in the middle of the floor_ , he remembered Ella saying. _Something that might or might not have been covered in feathers_. “Did you crush Pierce’s wrist?” Dan asked.

“Yes,” Lucifer said shortly, offering no further explanation. Dan decided, for his own sanity, that he didn’t actually want to hear anything about Pierce right this minute. “Now if you’ve finished examining me like you’re picking out a budgerigar…?”

 _Is that British for pigeon?_ Dan wondered, before he realized that the Devil couldn’t possibly actually be British. He laughed softly to himself, and said “Sorry,” again at Lucifer’s expression. “Hard to organize my thoughts right now,” he admitted. “But it feels like some of the bullets are still in your, uh…” He stumbled over the word like it was too preposterous a thing to say aloud.

“Say it, Daniel,” Lucifer insisted, tiredly.

“Your wings, then. You don’t seem to be bleeding, but you’re not healing, either, with all that metal lodged in there. If you own a set of tweezers I can probably get them for you. No need to, uh, amputate.”

“Mmm. Sounds tedious. Not sure I wouldn’t prefer to amputate, but… if my brother was right… I imagine they won't be growing back, after this.” Lucifer sighed, the resistance draining out of him. ”Thank you, _Doctor_ Douche. There should be a grooming kit in the bathroom.”

“I don’t suppose you have exam gloves anywhere?” Dan said, without much hope. Owning a first-aid kit indicated thoughtfulness, maturity, foresight, and awareness of human fragility; not really qualities Lucifer had ever manifested.

Lucifer surprised him again. “There should be some in one of the bathroom drawers. Also in the kitchen. And the entertainment center, the coffee table, the bedside table, the…”

“Okay, okay! I’ll find some. Wait here.”

“Gladly,” Lucifer said. “If you nudge another bottle over to where I can reach it.”

There was no door on the bathroom, Dan was somewhat disturbed to notice. He pulled his phone out and texted Ella: **[the eagle has landed]** , so at least she wouldn’t continue looking. Ella always appreciated a good conspiracy. He stared at his phone for too long, trying to decide what to say to Chloe. She’d known. She _must_ have known. All those weird hesitations, telling him to be careful. He felt betrayed, but he wasn’t sure why--if she’d said _Be careful, Lucifer’s literally Satan and has great big razor-edged wings_ , he probably would have asked the nurse if she’d been concussed. Dan blinked at his own reflection in the mirror, then quickly sent **[Found LM, handling it, will call later]** to Chloe. **[You owe me a pizza]** he sent as an afterthought, then returned his attention to the task at hand.

The grooming kit was as described, a slim leather-bound case beside the sink with tweezers, scissors, and a few other tools. Dan grabbed the whole thing. As for the gloves… Dan opened the drawer built in below the kitchen sink to find a stash of personal lubricants in convenient pump bottles, a vast assortment of condoms, and three boxes of non-latex exam gloves, two in standard sizes and one, apparently intended for veterinary use, that went all the way to the elbows. “Oh. Ugh, brain bleach,” Dan muttered, and pulled a couple of pairs out of the regular L box.

He returned to Lucifer, who had substantially depleted the level of the bottle Dan had left beside him. Somehow the sight of Lucifer’s wings managed to astonish him all over again. He hasn't exactly forgotten about them while he'd been in the other room, but it was very difficult to keep their dimensions fixed in his head. He didn't look like something that should be sitting at a bar, he should be... in an aviary. Maybe an aircraft hangar. Dan took a deep breath and tried to shove all the existential uncertainty out of his mind, focus on the gruesome task ahead.

“Um,” Dan said, surveying the damage. There were so many bloodstains, and if each one was a wound that needed tending… god, he was gonna be here all night. “Where should I start?”

“Dealer’s choice,” Lucifer said, leaning forward to rest his arms on the bartop. “Don’t overthink it.”

He had to get a dishcloth from the kitchen to sponge away the dried blood so he could see. The worst damage was at the last joint of the wings, the “hand” that the largest feathers were all attached to, so Dan started there, deciding to work his way from one side to the other. Dan probed the wound, carefully. He’d had first-responder training and had seen his fair share of living carnage, had taken a few serious hits himself, but this was uncanny in a way that made him slightly nauseous. _Lucifer has wings_ was apparently less of a mental hurdle than gunshot wounds that didn’t bleed, even when he inserted the tweezers into the injury and poked them gently around. Dan could see and feel the living muscle contracting and pulsing. And of course there was Lucifer himself, not making things easier. “Daniel, for once I promise you _cannot_ actually make things worse,” he said. “Don’t worry about causing more damage, just get them out. Quick as you can, we’re getting dangerously low on booze here,” he added, drinking from the bottle of bourbon like it was an ice-cold light beer on a hot July day.

 _Fine_ , Dan thought, and jabbed with the tweezers, hearing them click against something. Lucifer inhaled sharply but Dan ignored him, gripping the bullet with the tweezers and dragging it out of Lucifer’s flesh... and bone, it turned out, the thing was tightly embedded. He lost his grip when it finally came free, and it pinged into the wall behind the bar and clattered somewhere on the floor. Dan swore and went to retrieve it, but Lucifer shook his head. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I’ll get it later.”

“But it’s-...” _-evidence_ , Dan started to say, before he caught himself and smiled wryly, imagining the evidence collection form he’d be filling out later. _9mm round, unfragmented, recovered from 3cm wound in fallen angel’s wing (see attached wound report)._

“Might want to leave this out of the paperwork, eh, Detective?” Lucifer said, guessing his thoughts. “The investigative unit has plenty of bullets for their collection, after all.” The part of the wing he was holding--wrist? Thumb? Something only angels had?--flexed slightly in his hands and Dan almost yelped in surprise. He knew that the wing was both alive and part of Lucifer but there was still something surreal about it being a limb that he consciously controlled. “Oh, that’s much better, Daniel,” Lucifer said, relief in his voice, “it’s healing, I can feel it.”

“Yeah, _one_ bullet wound,” Dan said. “Out of…” He trailed off. He didn’t actually want to guess. “...however many.”

He prodded another wound carefully. Lucifer sighed. “Daniel, seriously, there’s no need to be gentle, it isn’t my first time,” Lucifer said sharply. With a grunt of effort, he reached for the grooming kit, retrieved the cuticle scissors, and, making sure Dan was looking, jabbed the point of the blades into his palm. He held up his bloodless hand. “See? I’m invulnerable right now, you literally can’t cause more damage.”

Dan’s last shred of surviving scepticism took the scissors from Lucifer and poked his own wrist below the glove, with much less force than Lucifer had used. A drop of blood welled up immediately. “Ow,” Dan said, and almost slipped in another smear of blood on the floor as he replaced the scissors, which brought up another salient point. “‘You can’t hurt me, I’m invulnerable’ is a weird thing to say to the guy you’re bleeding on,” he pointed out. “Should I be putting pressure on that?” he asked, indicating the underside of Lucifer’s wing where it joined his body. The deep laceration he’d made was still sluggishly bleeding. Dan was trying to avoid it but the blood was wicking into Lucifer’s feathers and he could already tell today’s jeans were probably a write-off.

Lucifer ignored the question. “There are a few loopholes. Celestials--that’s angels and demons, mostly--can hurt each other. And celestial, or in this case, Hell-forged, weapons can damage me. That,” he pointedly glanced at the curved knife on the bar, “is one.”

“So, what, someone pointed a celestial UMP at you?” Dan didn’t have to think too hard to remember another time he’d seen Lucifer get hurt. “And what about that… what’s her name, Axara’s groupie, who stabbed you.”

“CeCe,” Lucifer sighed, because of course he hadn’t forgotten her name. “Right. No, that would be the other loophole. Chloe. She… makes me vulnerable. Mortal. She was in my arms when Pierce ordered his men to fire, ergo...”

“That makes no sense,” Dan muttered.

“That’s divinity for you,” Lucifer said, trailing off in a sigh as Dan dropped a bullet into one of the empty decanters.

“So this doesn’t hurt?” Dan said, as his tweezers grated against naked bone.

Lucifer twitched like a fly-stung horse. “Not really,” he said. “It… I feel the pressure, a sense of damage, an ongoing sort of distress, limited mobility…”

Dan exhaled. “Ah. In Human, we say ‘yes, it fucking hurts’.” He resumed his prodding with a little more consideration, trying to work quickly. The level of spent projectiles in the decanter was rising steadily and he let the silence stretch for a while, punctuated by quiet sounds from Lucifer and the clink of lead against glass. As he worked his way along the “forearm” bones of Lucifer’s wing, he could see how the feathers had protected the flesh and bone underneath. The actual wounds were only in places the feathers, like armor, had been chipped away by repeated impacts. Dan didn’t want to think about what that meant, or about how many seconds Lucifer had held himself between machine guns and Chloe, getting ripped to shreds to protect himself and her. Too many, clearly.

“How in the hell did this happen?” Dan asked abruptly, then caught himself. “Jesus. Sorry. You’ve actually been to Hell. Fuck,” he said, realizing something. He didn’t want to ask, but as soon as he thought of it, he had to know. “Did Charlotte… end up there? She had terrible nightmares. Of being damned. Eternally. Can that... I mean, you're the Devil... does that mean...?”

Lucifer tensed, although whether it was in response to Dan’s question or the fact that Dan had poked his tweezers into another ragged bullet wound was hard to determine. “Hell is real," Lucifer said gently, "But Charlotte isn't there. I would know, if she was. I think she was with my brother when she died, and he took her to Heaven.”

Again, more information than Dan could absorb. “Your bro-... _Amenadiel_? If you’re the Devil, what is _he_?”

Dan felt Lucifer’s stifled laugh tremble his shoulders. “An angel,” he said. “A proper one, God’s enforcer and all that. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

”No, that actually makes a lot of sense.” Unlike Lucifer, Amenadiel actually did have the voice and bearing of an angel. It was a little too easy to imagine his former drinking buddy and failed improv prodigy up there with the heavenly host. He tried to imagine Charlotte there, too, but all he could envision was her dead body, and he shuddered, blinking back tears.  _Stop thinking about it,_ he warned himself fiercely. He flexed his fingers, wiped more blood out of the way, and went back to digging bullets out of Lucifer, which were still in plentiful supply.

Lucifer was silent for a few minutes, but the quiet made him fidgety and eventually he spoke. “How are you doing, Daniel? Brain not melting under the exposure to all this divinity, I hope?”

Dan made a face. _Reminds me of helping my Nana pluck turkeys_ , he didn’t say. Lucifer’s ragged feathers smelled like any feathers did when wet and the weirdly bloodless parting and probing of flesh had more in common with butchery than first aid. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Lucifer said, apparently catching Dan’s expression.

“Yeah, ‘divine’ isn’t the word I’d choose right now, sorry,” said Dan. “Ugh. Every time I think of something I need to ask you, I just end up with more questions. I’m not going to be able to get my head around this, am I?”

“Mmm, probably not,” Lucifer said. “Tell me something about the Detective, then.”

“Chloe?”

“Some normal, mundane, human thing. It doesn’t have to be important. Do at least try to make it interesting,” Lucifer said, reaching for the decanter of bourbon again.

“Uh.” It was hard to think of anything normal while he was digging bullets out of bloodied angel wings. Dan felt like he was on another planet from the one where he had joint custody of a daughter and a job. He paused, flexed his hands, tried a quick grounding exercise from his improv group, and thought of something. “You know that movie _Working Girl_?”

Lucifer thought about it. “80s Harrison Ford. And 80s Melanie Griffith. Yummy.” Dan dropped another couple of bullets into the decanter with a clank. “A cautionary tale against combining alcohol and diazepam, or an enthusiastic endorsement of same, I’ve never been sure.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Whenever she has a really stressful day she curls up with that movie and watches it by herself.”

“Really?” Lucifer said, intrigued. “That’s her favorite film? I would never have,” he grunted as Dan dug the tweezers into him again, “guessed.”

“I don’t know that it’s her favorite, but it’s definitely the one she’s seen the most times,” Dan said. “I never asked her why she loved it so much. I mean, I guess it is a movie about showing up your evil boss, that’s probably cathartic after a rough day at work.”

“Hm. Something to ask the Detective about,” Lucifer said, then stiffened. “That is, if she ever wants to talk to me again. Now that she knows.”

Dan tried for reassurance, and missed the mark considerably. “Hey, I know, and I’m still talking to you.”

“Not helpful,” Lucifer said, although he managed not to add a _Detective Douche_ this time.

“Chloe still talks to me, and I betrayed her like… like you wouldn’t believe,” Dan said, and that seemed to hearten Lucifer somewhat. “Anyway, she was worried about you. She sent me to find you,” Dan pointed out, although it was a little weird that she hadn’t followed up. Had she gotten his text? Had she left the hospital?

“Better,” Lucifer grudgingly admitted, as Dan shifted to his other side to start working on the other wing. He was getting faster, using his gloved fingers instead of the tweezers whenever he could to try to spare his hand. The decanter he’d selected as a bullet receptacle was over half full. He wondered how many were in there; he definitely wasn’t up to keeping a running tally. “Tell me something else,” Lucifer said abruptly.

“About Chloe?”

“About anything you like,” Lucifer said. “Just keep talking. Try not to think too hard.” So Dan told the story of when he and Chloe had visited his parents after their honeymoon, and Chloe’s luggage had gotten mixed up with the nearly-identical suitcase of some kind of reptile taxidermy enthusiast, which they hadn't realized until they'd gone looking for the bottle of wine Dan brought as a gift and found a disturbingly realistically-posed pair of dead rattlesnakes and a stranger's toiletries instead. Lucifer laughed in the correct places and the familiar anecdote with its comfortable story beats actually did help Dan step back a little and unfocus, and before he had finished telling the next story, the one where he and Chloe had taken little Trixie to Disneyland for the first time and Dan discovered he hated rollercoasters as an adult just as much as he hated them as a child, the decanter was nearly full and Dan had worked his way to Lucifer’s other wingtip.

“I think I’m close to being done here,” Dan said. “How does that feel?”

Lucifer straightened up and stretched his wings experimentally. “Much better. I think I can… aah!” He drew his wings together to fold them back into non-existence, but had to clutch at the bar to keep his balance on the stool as they spasmed. “Bloody hell,” he panted.

Dan steadied Lucifer with a hand on his back, oddly reassured by the patch of warm human skin between Lucifer’s wings. “What’s wrong?”

“I can feel… in my back somehow, right…” Lucifer tried to indicate the spot, but he still didn’t have a lot of range of motion in his arms.

Dan walked his fingertips around where Lucifer seemed to be indicating, at the base of his wing. There was something embedded on the underside of where his wing met his shoulder, Dan could feel it if he pressed down hard. “Were you shot in the back while Chloe was with you?”

Lucifer let out a breath. “I don’t think so. But… it was a lot of gunfire to keep track of in the moment.”

Dan searched patiently through mostly-intact feathers for a moment, and found the entry wound, hidden on the top of the wing, not near any of the other wounds. The bullet had entered the wing's leading edge at a steep angle, contacted bone and rebounded into soft tissue, carving a curved path into the base of the wing. Muttering an apology, Dan dug his gloved finger into the wound, feeling the cavitation the shot had created. He was reminded of firing various caliber rounds into blocks of ballistics gel in training. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to get anywhere near the bullet with his finger or the tweezers, it was too deeply embedded. Most of the rounds had under-penetrated, either because Devil wings were just that tough or they'd spent most of their energy chipping through the Kevlar-like feathers, but not this one.

“Well?” Lucifer asked.

“We might have to leave it,” Dan said. “I can’t reach.”

Lucifer made a frustrated sound. “That’s not going to work for me,” he said. He closed his eyes. “I can’t put them away with… foreign objects embedded in them,” he said quietly. “It feels wrong. And it gets harder to do it, every time.”

“Will it come out on its own?” Dan asked, pulling back his glove a little to try and rub the exhaustion out of his eyes with his wrist.

Lucifer shrugged, and winced as his wings shivered in response to the slight movement. “Maybe, but it could take a while, and I can’t go back to LUX like… this.”

“Okay,” Dan said slowly. “Is there another option?”

Lucifer’s gaze was dragged toward the demon karambit, still sitting, quietly deadly, on the bartop. “Cut it out,” Lucifer said. “With the knife. It’ll bleed, but hopefully not too much, if I can put my wings away after.”

Dan blanched. He wasn’t qualified for this. “Will that actually work?”

Lucifer sighed. “I have no idea. No one’s ever tried to shoot my wings off off before, I’m improvising. I hope that's how it works.”

“I really, really, really hate this plan,” Dan said. But it was a token protest. He couldn’t imagine calling 911 and getting some innocent ambos involved in this. Apparently it was just his problem to deal with, and that realization made this officially the third worst night of Dan’s entire life.

“But you’ll do it?” Lucifer asked.

“Yes,” Dan sighed. He felt confident assuming that if he left Lucifer alone long enough, it would eventually occur to him to bolt the knife to something and try to de-wing himself that way. Dan didn’t want to think about what could happen if Lucifer got creative. “Not right here, though, I don’t want you to fall off the barstool if you get woozy.”

“I don’t get woozy,” Lucifer protested. "I'm the Devil."

“Oh, no? You looked woozy as he-... really woozy when I first showed up.”

“That was the _alcohol_ ,” Lucifer started to say, and Dan gave a pointed look at the empty decanters on the bar, and the nearly-empty one near Lucifer’s hand. “Fine, fine. The couch?”

Dan shrugged, offered Lucifer his hand. He was steadier on his feet than he had been as Dan assisted him onto the sofa. “If you don’t care about getting blood on it.”

“It’s black leather, Daniel. That couch has seen worse fluids than-...”

“Please, please stop talking. And get comfy, or whatever, I’m getting some more towels.”

“And the bourbon, please,” Lucifer said, as Dan retreated back to the kitchen.

Arranging Lucifer on the couch so that Dan could reach under his wings without fouling them was a problem. He ended up kneeling on the floor, with Lucifer stretched out on his chest and one wing thrown over the back of the couch, and the other one thrown mostly over Dan, which was... a weird sensation. This position wasn’t the greatest for visibility, so Dan used Lucifer’s bourbon to prop his phone with its LED flashlight on the coffee table. It gave him an irritable low-battery chirp. Dan changed his gloves for a fresh pair, but he knew even as he did so that he was just wasting time, delaying. As Dan pressed his finger into the muscle at the base of the wing, trying to find the spot again, Lucifer echoed the phone's sentiment: "Get on with it."

Dan found the stray round and kept his finger on it. With his other hand, he pressed the point of the blade into Lucifer’s skin, expecting resistance that didn’t happen. It felt like sticking a knife into water, skin and muscle parting easily under the lightest pressure. Blood welled up at the point and started to drip. Lucifer made no sound, which made it easier to keep going, but Dan was horribly aware of the damage he was inflicting as he carved through muscle to the original wound cavity. Dropping the knife onto the floor with a clatter, he picked up the tweezers and groped, unable to see anything even with the makeshift light. Blood coated his gloved hands immediately, making it hard to grip the tweezers.

After several lengthy seconds of frantic probing, he grasped the bullet and it came free more easily than the others, rolling away somewhere under the couch. He pressed the towels against the wound he'd created, feeling sick. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Fuck, this is… really a lot of blood.”

Lucifer gasped, and Dan glanced at his face, alarmed to see blood on his lips. “Shit, Lucifer. I didn’t… I didn’t go too deep, did I?” He pressed down harder.

Before Dan could actually start to panic, Lucifer shook his head. “No,” he said. “But you’re a gentleman to ask,” he added, dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand and eyeing the blood spot critically. While Dan was trying to work out whether that was a sex joke, Lucifer said “I think I bit my tongue. I didn’t know that was possible. Ow.”

“Seriously, Lucifer, now would be a great time to put your wings away. If you can. If you can’t, we’re in trouble.” The first towel was already sodden and Dan pressed a new one against Lucifer’s back under the bulk of the wing.

“Stand clear,” Lucifer said, unsteadily, lifting himself on his hands. “I don’t want to hit you with... anything.” Dan didn’t want to release pressure on a wound bleeding this freely, but he also didn’t want to get clipped by one of the razor feathers. He decided to trust Lucifer. He scooted back to the head of the couch, the towel soaked immediately scarlet, and Lucifer drew his wings in.

Watching them stowed was even worse than watching them emerge, and the part of Dan that had loved H.P. Lovecraft stories when he was fifteen nodded sagely and went _oh, so that’s what “eldritch” means_ as his stomach did a queasy flip. There was a part of the process that Dan’s brain utterly refused to compute, when Lucifer flicked the last ragged pinions into a pocket dimension or whatever the hell, with a deep moan of relief. Lucifer had been right: as soon as the wings fully disappeared, the bleeding stopped. Dan mopped at the spill over the couch cushions with the last clean towel. He didn’t throw up, but some of his discomfort must have shown on his face, because after Lucifer groped for the bourbon and gulped noisily from the bottle, he offered it to Dan.

Dan got up, peeled his gloves off, eyed the bottle, and took a generous belt. It was, as always, the good stuff, almost a shame to drink it this fast. He took another swig, wiped his mouth, and set the bottle down as the room tilted around him.

The combination of sleep deprivation and physical, emotional, and spiritual exhaustion caught up to him at last. When the alcohol hit his system, Dan completely lost the ability to Dan. Lucifer moved quickly, which is why, when Dan fell over, his face landed on the Devil and not on the edge of the coffee table.

“Well, that’s inconvenient,” Lucifer murmured, but with the ache in his wings distant and muffled to a tolerable level at last, he was able to settle Dan a little more squarely on the couch with him, at least so he wasn’t at risk of sliding off. Lucifer’s head fell back and he let himself doze.

++++

Dan was having one of those nonsense dreams he always got when he napped in the afternoon, full of vaguely threatening bright colors and sharp images and for some reason, a giant elephant, the size of a building, and he was laying on it and feeling it breathe. He jerked awake, disoriented, started thrashing in panic, and the elephant resolved itself into Lucifer, who said, “Do you always wake up like that? Because if you do, we can’t sleep together any more, I’m sorry.”

“What…” Dan’s reflexive protest was immediately strangled by his conscious awareness, which said, “ _You’re really the Devil_ ,” as though that was the most pressing issue to deal with, and not the fact that Dan had been fast asleep in the Devil’s arms long enough to drool on the Devil’s bare chest.

“I never said otherwise,” Lucifer said. “Although I’m glad you’re not trying to convince yourself it was all a dream. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised, you’ve shown resistance to divine influences before.”

“What?” Dan said, blinking rapidly. He lifted himself off Lucifer, who sat up carefully, swinging his long legs onto the floor. “When?”

“Ah, don’t remember that one? Funny story, it also involves you stabbing me with a celestial blade. But never mind. Feel any compulsion to fall down at my feet in abject worship? Run away and start a cult?”

Dan just looked at him funny. “Nope. Not feeling anything like that. Look… really, don’t tell Chloe about this.”

Lucifer smiled, a genuine smile that went all the way to his eyes. “Don’t tell Chloe how many times you penetrated me from behind? Or how you probed me with your fingers until I almost passed out?”

Dan had an awful crick in his neck. He rubbed it gingerly. “I meant about falling asleep on you, but yeah, don’t tell her any of those other things, either. Guess you must be feeling better if you’ve got your innuendo back.”

“Much better,” Lucifer said. “Healing. Finally. Thanks to you. You really went above and beyond the call of duty, Detective D-... Daniel.”

Dan snorted. “Good save.”

“I owe you a _considerable favor_ ,” Lucifer said, weighting the statement like a king bestowing a decree. The lighting had shifted from brilliant daylight to mellow twilight, and for a moment Dan wasn't sure if it was just after sunset or just before dawn.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Dan said, awkwardly. “What time is it? Fuck.” He glanced at his phone. **[19:42]** , it informed him. And also **[2% battery]** , so much for calling Chloe tonight. Dan also felt like he had about two percent of his battery left, and maybe just enough juice to get himself back to his apartment, if nothing else disastrous happened. “I need to get home,” he said. “Are you going to be okay?”

Lucifer nodded. “Tell the Det-... tell Chloe, if you talk to her, that I’ll be at LUX all day tomorrow. If she wants to talk,” he said.

Dan got that worried crease between his eyes again. “You’re not going to, uh, fly there, are you?”

Lucifer snorted, and this time he didn't flinch when he laughed. “Certainly not. I’ll clean up here and call an Uber.” Good enough, Dan thought, and stumbled out into the night.

Somehow Dan got himself home, though he was exhausted to the point of jitteriness. All he wanted to do was sleep; everything else could wait until morning.

It was after dark when he made it back to his apartment. Dan ran through his nighttime rituals like a robot, taking comfort in the routine. He peeled himself out of his blood-streaked clothes and headed to the bathroom. On autopilot, he let the shower warm up while he quickly brushed his teeth, got in, pointed the showerhead at the wall, and reached down for his usual before-bed jerk-off session, only to yank his hand away like his dick was a venomous snake. He stared at the wall, letting the water splash around him as the briefest possible moment of feeling normal dissipated like vapor and there was once again nothing between him and his grief. Because, of course, the first image his mind had called up was Charlotte, heavy-lidded and welcomingly naked, and that was the one thing, the _one_ thing, he’d spent the entire day trying not to think about. _I will not cry in the shower_ , he told himself, firmly, and cried in the shower for almost a minute before turning the water off, toweling himself briefly, and falling into bed, his heart an ugly tangle of dark red threads.

Sleep was impossible. Regardless of what Dan’s emotions had decided to do to him, the purely physical urge wouldn’t leave him alone, nagging at him, refusing to let him sleep. He ignored it as long as he could but eventually just rolled onto his back.

 _Okay. Not Charlotte. Something else._  Taking his cock in his hand, he tried to conjure a picture of Chloe as she’d been in her late 20s, but it kept turning into Chloe as he’d seen her today, hurt and hesitant, unable to talk to him about anything important. Dan made a small, frustrated sound. The anonymous naked bodies of porn had never done much for him; he always had to fantasize about someone he knew. Usually that wasn’t a challenge, but occasionally, like now, it threw up an emotional barrier to a completely physical need.

He stroked himself mechanically as his mind flicked desperately through his sparse sexual history, trying to find an image that would let him get over the edge. High school girlfriend, college boyfriend, that exchange student he’d hooked up with--Doryan? Doryu?--they were frozen in time, too young now to appeal to his adult sensibilities. But thinking of Doryan reminded him of someone else who dressed well, smoked fancy cigarettes, and had an accent.

Dan’s breath caught. His dick throbbed. _There_ was something he could use. He spat into his hand, stroking himself with real urgency. Lucifer’s skin, warm under his hands, the sounds he’d made in response to Dan’s touch. Yes, and the bourbon on his breath when he spoke, he imagined Lucifer saying _probe me with your fingers until I pass out_. His hand quickened under the blanket and he arched up, thrusting into his palm, desperate. _Those fucking wings_ … and in Dan’s mind’s eye, he gripped the wings, felt their strength under his hands, buried his face in their dense, protective softness, and came with a shuddering sigh. Dan relaxed, panting, into his pillow for a moment, then snapped his eyes open.

“What,” Dan demanded of his bedroom ceiling, “the _Hell_ was that?” And that was the end of the worst day Dan Espinoza had ever had.


	3. The Whole Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what now? You can’t just go on pretending to be human,” Chloe said.
> 
> “I never pretended to be human,” he said. “Has anything important changed?” It sounded like a rhetorical question, but… Lucifer never asked rhetorical questions. He actually wanted an answer, and one only Chloe could give. “Because nothing’s changed for me. I’m still the same person, Chloe,” he went on, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. “The only difference is that you believe what I tried so many times to tell you.”
> 
> “That’s not the only difference, Lucifer. Everything I _know_ is wrong. I don’t think I can go back to the way things were.”
> 
> Lucifer nodded, a single curt nod of resignation, like this was the blow he’d been waiting to receive from her. “I thought you’d say that. Very well, give me a few days to make arrangements and you’ll never see me again, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific content warnings: hospitals, minor hospital procedures, minor description of wounds, non-graphic description of animal neglect (the dog is okay, I promise). Don't step in the feels, they're slippery.

After Dan left, Chloe glanced at her phone, hoping to see that Lucifer had texted or called and she’d missed the alert somehow, but it was completely inert, the battery long dead. Of course, there wasn’t an outlet within arm’s reach of the bed that she could use to recharge it. Happily for Chloe’s sanity, her mother showed up, with Trixie in tow.

“Hey, Monkey!” Chloe said cheerfully, subtly bracing herself for her daughter’s inevitable launch into her arms. But Trixie sat carefully on the edge of the bed so as not to jostle her, and Chloe’s heart broke a little, that her daughter had seen her hurt enough times to learn to temper her affection. “I’m fine,” she said. “Trixie, I’m really, really fine. I’m just here for some tests.”

“Gramma said you got shot,” Trixie said quietly, still keeping her arms to herself.

“What? No, honey, I didn’t… well, yes, I did, but I was wearing a vest, look.” She tugged her collar down so Trixie could see the bruise developing under her clavicle. “Just a bruise, okay? I’m fine.”

“You don’t _look_ fine,” Trixie said, and Chloe realized that tugging her shirt down also exposed the leads of the heart monitor.

“Oh, monkey. You don’t like the wires?” Trixie shook her head. “They’re only attached to stickers, see?” She lifted up her shirt to show one of the pads stuck to her ribcage. “They itch, but they don’t hurt or anything.” She pointed to the display next to the bed. “See on that TV? It’s showing how fast my heart is beating, my blood pressure, how much oxygen in my blood, stuff like that.” Trixie watched the EKG lines in fascination for a moment. “All fine. It’s just a monitor. They stick one on everyone who comes in here,” she said. “I really am okay.”

Trixie gave her a skeptical look. “If you’re _fine_ , why are you _here_ ,” she pointed out, reasonably.

“Just to be on the safe side,” Chloe said. “I was knocked out for a couple of minutes, like when you got hit by that softball in second grade. Remember all the tests they did and the lights they made you look at, when all you wanted to do was go home and sleep?” Trixie nodded sympathetically. “That’s the kind of day I’m having, but I’ll get to go home soon.” Chloe paused, like she had just thought of something, and reached into her pocket. “Hey, you know what would be a big help? If you could take my phone and charger over to that desk and ask if they’ve got somewhere I can plug it in for a few minutes. It’s totally dead. Okay?”

She watched Trixie head determinedly for the nurse’s station, a girl with a mission. _“Mom, what did you tell her,”_ Chloe hissed, as soon as her daughter was out of earshot.

“I didn’t give her any details! Just like Dan asked. I said you were at the hospital and wanted to see her,” Penelope said. “Although I… may have said some things to the front desk at the school… about how your job is too dangerous… that I _suppose_ Trixie could have overheard. But she clearly wasn’t paying attention at the time.”

Chloe sighed, watching Trixie engage animatedly with an orderly. “Mom, you know she puts her headphones in and pretends she’s not listening when she wants information.”

“I saw her phone screen! There was a video playing!” Penelope objected.

 _Yeah, on mute, because she’s smarter than both of us_ , Chloe thought, but she wasn’t really in the mood to argue with her mother, especially when she was going to have to ask her another favor. “It’s fine. Thank you for bringing her, but she didn’t really need to get out of school,” Chloe said. “I’m honestly okay, just waiting on some tests. I’ll be home in a few hours, probably. Can you make sure Trix gets to her piano lesson at 4:00? You don’t need to pick her up, her friend Daniela lives a block away. I’ll get her from there if I’m going to be later than five.”

“And where’s Dan while all this is going on,” Penelope said, disapprovingly, but at that moment Trixie returned and Chloe didn’t have to either lie to her mother, change the subject, or say anything as ridiculous as _He’s out looking for my partner, a supernatural being who’s been pretending to be a civilian consultant to the LAPD for years_ out loud. In addition to finding a place to charge Chloe’s phone, the orderly, charmed by Trix, had located some crayons and a few sheets of blank paper. Trixie’s mood was much improved by the crayons and by having been given a task to accomplish, and she immediately set about drawing one of her aliens. This one appeared to have a lot of teeth and eyes, but also a large, friendly smile and cuddly soft fur. Chloe asked her about school, and while Trixie was outlining an implausible but hilarious story about a class pet--escaping? being set free?--a technician finally showed up to deliver Chloe to Radiology.

It all seemed like a lot of trouble to go through, for such a minor thing. While they were getting her into position relative to the equipment, Chloe asked, “You can’t, like, _do_ anything for a cracked rib, right?” Chloe remembered Dan had broken a rib surfing once, and there was pretty much nothing to do but try not to move the wrong way and let it heal. “So what difference does it make?”

“Whether we send you home with ibuprofen or Vicodin,” the technician said, clearly at the end of a long shift. Chloe didn’t ask any more questions after that. And by the time she got back to her assigned bed, her mother had gone to get Trixie to her lesson, and her phone was charged. As soon as Chloe got her phone turned on, it started blinking its LED insistently. **[4 missed calls]** , it informed her. She checked the call history: all Linda, an hour ago. She touched the callback button, expecting it to go to Linda’s polite voicemail, but she picked up immediately.

“Hello? Chloe? _Finally_ , I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. Is Lucifer with you?” Linda asked, an uncharacteristic intensity in her voice. “Do you know where he is?”

“It’s been… a lot’s happened this morning,” Chloe began, and then her thoughts immediately ran aground, unsure of how much to tell _the Devil’s therapist_. “I’m looking for him too, or I will be, as soon as… uh, soon.”

“So he’s not with you?” Linda said, sounding relieved. “Well, that’s good, at least. I mean, not _good_ -good, but it makes things less complicated.” She paused, centered herself. “It’s really important that I talk to him _right away_ ,” Linda stressed. “I have some information, regarding a… a thing, that Lucifer has been dealing with lately,” and Chloe heard a muffled voice for a second, as though Linda had covered the phone’s pickup with her hand to talk to someone. Someone she knew.

“Wait, is that Maze?” Chloe demanded.

“Um,” Linda said. “One moment, please,” and there was another muffled conversation. “Ye-es, I’ve got Maze here, but she says she doesn’t want to talk to Detective Decker, she wants to talk to Chloe.”

Chloe gave in to a brief flash of annoyance. “I’m the same freakin’ person, Linda, and I’ve been worried about her. I was hoping she’d watch Trixie yesterday, she really let me down just going silent like that, I thought we were doing better, and it...” There was a click on Linda’s end of the line. “Hello?”

“Decker.” Maze’s voice. “Hey.” She sounded awful, thick, like she was sick. Or hung over.

Chloe was conditionally mollified in the first case, but even more annoyed in the second. She framed a diplomatic response. “Maze? You sound… uh, not good. Where have you been the last two days?”

“Drugged. Chained to a pipe,” Maze said, flatly, which Chloe interpreted as a Maze-ish way of saying _don’t ask_. “Look, there’s some stuff I gotta tell you that I don’t want to say on the phone. Can you meet me at… _what?_ ” she snapped, and this time Chloe could hear the whole argument, because Maze didn’t bother to cover the receiver or hit the mute button.

_-can’t let her come over here! Not looking like that! She’s going to-_

_-You think she doesn’t want to know her lieutenant’s gonna kill her partner?-_

_-Maze! Take some time to think! She’s not with Lucifer right now, so he can’t possibly be-_

_-Pierce took one of my blades, he doesn’t need Chloe around to-_

“Maze,” Chloe interrupted as loudly as she dared, “I need you to explain, very clearly and in detail, why exactly you thought Lieutenant Pierce was going to try to kill Lucifer.”

Maze’s voice came back in clearly as she put the phone back to her ear. “Not on the phone, Decker. Come by Linda’s office if you want to talk it out. I’m not going anywhere.” And she disconnected the line, and didn’t answer when Chloe tried to call back.

Chloe chafed. Being treated like she was seriously injured and having nothing to think about except the way her chest ached and her shoulder was throbbing was making her feel frail and overwrought and she hated it. “Can I go home yet?” she asked the next nurse’s aide to walk by, sounding even to herself like a plaintive child, except Trixie would never whine like this, she'd go straight to negotiating.

“When imaging comes back, you can talk to the doctor, see what she says. We’re working on getting you out of here, hon, just sit tight,” the CNA said cheerfully. “Won’t be long now.”

In fact it was another forty minutes before the doctor came in, and another hour before she could leave, after she had completed more paperwork and gotten fitted for an arm sling, which she didn’t see the point of. (“My arm feels fine,” said Chloe. The aide gave her a pitying look and told her “See how you feel about it tomorrow, when it’s done swelling.”)

 _Then_ she had to go pick up her car, and then, finally, she was able to go see what on earth was going on with Linda and Maze.

 

++++

 

Linda was outside her office building when Chloe pulled up. “You smoke?” she asked, as she got out of her car. “Isn’t that the kind of habit psychotherapy is supposed to fix?”

“No,” Linda said, exhaling a puff of blue-grey. “I mean, no, I don’t smoke, but I used to. I found these in my desk. It’s been a Hell of a morning,” she said. “Literally.”

That gave Chloe pause. Ordinarily she wouldn’t even hear the emphasis, but today... “ _How_ literally,” she asked, warily.

Linda stared at her for a long moment. “Oh,” she said. “He finally showed you, didn’t he?” The answer must have been written on Chloe’s expression as Linda dropped her cigarette on the pavement and ground it out under her shoe. “You saw his… other face?” she asked carefully. Chloe nodded again, and Linda said “Oh, Chloe,” with such sympathy that she nearly burst into tears on the spot.

Chloe took a deep breath, tamping her emotions down, repositioning some things in her mind. “How long have you…?”

“A while, and before you ask any follow-up questions, he disclosed _in a session._ Lucifer is my friend but he is also my _patient_ and it would be an awful breach of ethics to share with you anything he said to me in confidence. Please, please keep that in mind if there’s anything else you want to know about Lucifer, or Heaven, or Hell, or anything.” Linda paused, possibly for breath. “I really, really, really can’t tell you anything about Hitler.”

Chloe raised her eyebrows. That was a genuinely stunning non-sequitur. “Why would I want to know anything about Hitler?”

Linda shrugged, and gestured for Chloe to walk past her. “You know. Just in case it happened to come up. Let’s get inside.”

The office, usually a space of reassuring earth tones, well-tended plants, and tasteful professionalism, was in disarray. The bookcases that weren’t built into the walls had been pushed against the windows, obstructing the golden afternoon sunlight. The contents of a first-aid kit were scattered over the table, keeping a large bottle of vodka company. Not the mid-shelf vodka that Linda preferred, but the giant-plastic-jug type of vodka that Maze liked on her breakfast cereal. And of course there was Maze, hugging the couch like she had been flung there from a passing train.

“Maze,” Linda said without preamble. “It’s okay. Chloe knows. Who Lucifer is, I mean. Who you are.” But actually Chloe hadn’t thought until this very second that Maze had always called herself a demon, had always talked about “humans” like she wasn’t one, had always “enabled” Lucifer in his “delusions” and…

“Finally,” Maze croaked. Her roommate, the _archdemon_ , was draped over Linda’s couch, her face scraped and bruised, lip split, and one eye starting to swell shut. Her bare arms were similarly worked over, bruises darkening her skin and swelling her knuckles, although an improbable leather outfit seemed to have offered her torso some protection. A deep cut had been bandaged on her upper arm and she watched Chloe with the wary eyes of a cornered predator.

“Maze, what happened?” Chloe asked. “Were you in a fight?” Realizing, as she did so, what a stupid question it was.

Maze laughed, a deep guffaw, then winced and rubbed her jaw with the back of her hand. “Ow. Yeah, you could say that. Your boss,” she began.

Chloe interrupted immediately. “ _Pierce_ did this to you?” Deep under the bruise on her chest, she felt a flicker of rage from the bed of banked, furious embers that had been quietly burning since she’d seen those painfully fake sniffles and realized Marcus, somehow, was responsible for Charlotte Richards’ death.

“His guys did, yeah. After I broke out of… hang on,” Maze coughed and wiped the back of her mouth with her hand, examining it like she expected to see blood. “Let me start at the beginning.” She outlined the barest possible sketch of the last few days, starting with her original plan to frame Lucifer for murdering Pierce, then she had to explain how Pierce was actually the Biblical Cain, and how he’d tried to get her to bring him Amenadiel but she’d refused, tried to finish Pierce off herself, and failed. “He took my blade,” she said. “One of my Hell-forged blades. He missed his attempt at Amenadiel so for sure he’s gonna try to take out Lucifer if he can. Even as pathetic as Lucifer’s been lately, Pierce is no match for him in a straight-up fight, so he’ll probably set up an ambush, take his shot when you’re together, when Lucifer is vulnerable. You need to stay away from Lucifer until we can stop Pierce, because if he kills him first I won’t get to gloat about it.” She slowly straightened her legs, swung them onto the floor, and gave Chloe, who’d been trying to interrupt for nearly a full minute, a hard look. “Unless you’ve got something you wanna say. Out with it, Decker.”

“I was getting around to telling you that part,” Chloe said, and sat down on the unoccupied end of the couch. “The ambush already happened. Pierce is dead. I shot him,” Chloe said, a Lucifer-ish conjunction of two statements that were both true, yet unrelated. But she was a cop, and _I’m pretty sure Lucifer killed Pierce_ was an allegation, not a fact. She hadn’t seen. She wasn’t _certain_. God, she needed to talk to Lucifer. “What did you mean, about Lucifer being vulnerable when we’re together?”

Linda’s expression was pained. “That’s one of the things you should probably talk about with Lucifer,” she said. “It’s… delicate, and it involves your history, and it really isn’t for me to say…”

Maze groaned. “You make him mortal. He can only get hurt by human stuff when he’s near you.”

“...or, Maze could just blurt it out without thinking,” Linda sighed.

Chloe didn’t have any idea where to begin dealing with that. So she backtracked again. “Maze, where they held you, was anything else going on there? What’s in that building? The one you were held in?”

“Dead guys. Broken stuff,” Maze said, with a shrug.

“Is that it? Nothing to tie them to Pierce at all? Weapons? Drugs?”

“Other than what he dosed me with, nah. It was kind of a shithole, honestly. Just a bunch of smelly guys with crap weapons. Oh, and some computers.” As Chloe’s face lit up with excitement, Maze’s eyebrows knit together and she added, “Old computers, so like, probably not worth anything.”

Chloe punched the air with a whoop. “Even better!” She could remember Marcus grumbling over technology upgrades, over the precinct e-file system updating at the beginning of the year; if he’d been hanging on to old computers, he had something important on them. “Maze, that’s perfect. That's how we can fix this. We’ve got to go down there right now and… wait. No. I can’t, I’m not a cop right now. Let me think.” She rested her face in her hands.

“Okay, crazy thought,” Linda said. “We… call the police? The rest of the police, I mean.”

“Pierce is out of the picture, but I have no idea how many of the Sinnerman’s guys are still out there, or if he had a second-in-command who can take charge,” Chloe said slowly. “If we send the wrong people to the warehouse, it’ll get cleaned up. If it hasn’t been already. Wait!” Chloe clicked her fingers. “I’ve got it: we call the police!”

“Is there an echo in here?” Linda said, looking somewhat longingly at Maze’s vodka.

“No, Decker, I get it,” Maze said, with an approving grin. “We all call the police. We call a whole lot of the police.”

“Not exactly. It’s all private security and shipping companies down there, right?” Maze nodded. “I’m thinking, we call the security companies of the neighboring buildings, describe a disturbance they won’t want to handle themselves, and get them to call the police. If we’re clever about it, they’ll send so many units out there that it won’t matter if Pierce had people inside.” Linda nodded.

At that moment, Chloe’s phone jarringly played the intro to “Walkin’ On Sunshine”. She fumbled it out of her pocket, made a pardon-me gesture to Maze and Linda, stepped into the hallway, and picked it up. “Ella? What’s up?”

“Chloe! Hi! Do you still have your badge?” Ella said, sounding a little odd. Was she _whispering_ into the phone?

“Um, yeah, I’m supposed to turn it in tomorrow morning.”

“Great! I’m texting you the address of a gated community, can you come to the property manager’s office real quick and, like, get me? Officially? They’re about to walk in here and they’re gonna think I was breaking and entering.”

“Why would they think that?” Chloe asked.

“Um… because I was breaking and entering. Not actually! Just… technically. Legally, yes, it was B&E, but… look, I promise to explain when you get here and it’s a really good explanation, it was Dan’s idea, but just hurry before the rest of the rent-a-cops finish their lunch break or whatever, okay bye!” She said the last part in a rush and hung up.

Chloe pressed the cool surface of the phone to her head, closed her eyes, and sighed. She headed back into the office. “Can you guys handle the legwork on this? Something just came up. And it might give me a bead on Lucifer, so…”

“Of course we can handle it,” Linda assured her. “Right, Maze?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Maze said, straightening her shoulders like she was about to stand up. “I can take you right to the place, we can throw some pipe bombs or something. Oh, we’ll need to stop at the hardware store…”

“No!” Linda and Chloe said in unison. “This is strictly a remote mission,” Chloe clarified. “No pipe bombs, no strategic wounding, just find out who owns the buildings surrounding Pierce’s goon hideout and report some suspicious activity to their security. Absolutely no hands-on intervention, we just want to make sure they send more than one car. Say you saw guns being exchanged, that should do it; everyone wants in on a weapons bust except the guys with no body armor getting paid eleven dollars an hour to watch TV.”

Even through her mask of bruises and barely able to stand upright, Maze managed to look disappointed, but she said, “Fine. Go do your thing. Tell Lucifer I said sorry.” Linda cleared her throat. Maze rolled her eyes. “Tell Lucifer, I said ‘sorry my original plan to just frame your for murder got so out of hand.’ Use those exact words,” she added, at Linda’s exasperated shrug. “And tell him… tell him I don't need to go home right now.” Linda's expression softened into something tender as Maze finished: “Tell him I found a reason to stay.”

Suddenly feeling like she was intruding on an intimate conversation, Chloe excused herself and went in search of Ella.

++++

Chloe went to the address Ella had given her, an upscale housing tract with, even for south L.A., aggressively hideous McMansions. She readied her badge and her blonde voice, and wandered into the security office. “Oh, hi, fellas!” she said, all cheer. “Detective Decker, LAPD. Homicide,” and the guy behind the desk _actually saluted_. It was all Chloe could do not to burst out laughing. “Is my lab tech here? I skipped my latte this morning and you know what, I think I must have sent her to the wrong address. You know how it is on these complicated cases,” she added breathily. She briefly wondered if she was laying it on too thick, but the security station manager nodded enthusiastically. Of course he knew. Not only was a real detective talking to him, but a _hot lady_ detective! Anything he could possibly do to help, no trouble at all, just a simple misunderstanding, you _ladies_ have a _nice da_ y, now.

Ella, waiting in a plastic chair next to the security station, greeted her with “Are we bad at being taken off investigations? We’re super bad at this, huh.”

“Yeah,” Chloe agreed, as they walked out of the building together. “The worst.”

“It’s not in our skill set,” Ella sighed, sadly.

Chloe nodded. “We should keep not-investigating off our resumes.”

“For sure,” Ella said solemnly. They stared at each other for a moment, then Ella burst out laughing. Chloe laughed, then lightly rubbed the bruise under her shirt collar. Ella noticed. “I won’t go in for my signature move, but know that I’m like, hugging the stuffing out of you in my mind.” She shook her head. “Damn, I’m glad I saw you before I got a look at whole scene and all that freakin’ firepower or I’d have been like, ‘whoa, how are you alive’!”

Chloe shrugged and suppressed another giggle as she told Ella the exact truth. “Divine intervention, I think.” She suddenly had an insight into why Lucifer’s sense of humor was… like that.

“Yeah, must have been,” Ella agreed easily. “Someone up there likes you, for sure. Miracle city, population you.”

“So what are you doing out here?” Chloe asked. “You said Dan was involved?”

“Yeah, I’m helping him track down our consultant, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Devilish. It’s wild considering the circumstances, but basically no one’s seen him since this morning. We split the list of properties Lucifer owns; he took Malibu and Beverly Hills, I got Long Beach and Glendale. But, uh, I got caught sneaking around the last one on my half of the list,” Ella admitted sheepishly.

“Do you still have the original list?” Ella passed her phone to Chloe. “You’ve tried calling Dan, I assume.”

“Yeah, he stopped answering or responding to texts,” Ella confirmed.

“Huh. Well, let’s see if we can catch up to him.” She glanced at the sleek GTA500 parked in the shade behind Ella. “Once you return Lucifer’s car.”

“Awww.”

++++

It was after sundown when they got to the Carbon Mesa place. Wanting to avoid a repetition of Ella’s earlier misadventure, they parked at a distance and walked up; Ella had already spotted the security car doing a roughly 20-minute circuit. Chloe took the opportunity to call Trixie and talk to Daniela's mother.

They double-checked the address and Chloe guessed the gate combination--6669, nice--on her first try, and Ella picked the front door lock in under a minute. Ella reached a gloved hand toward the light switch next to the front door, but Chloe touched her shoulder, shook her head. “Not until we’re further inside,” she said. “I don’t want the patrol to see a light go on and decide to take a closer look.”

“Oh, good thinking,” Ella agreed. “Luckily, I have a backup plan for not tripping over the furniture,” she said, and pulled a sleek black flashlight out of her pocket. From the way she handled it, Chloe could see that it was heavier than it looked like it ought to be, and probably expensive.

“You came prepared,” Chloe said, impressed, as she walked behind the bar to see if there were any compact lights that wouldn’t be visible from the front of the house.

“Boy Scout motto,” Ella said, cheerfully.

“When were you a Boy Scout?” Chloe asked, eyeing the liquor selection dubiously. Because of course the bar of an empty house was kept stocked.

“Oh, when I was a little, little kid. Like, when me and my little brother were old enough to pick up trash at the park, too young to start our own campfires. Anyway, check out my fancy light! Lucifer got me this for my birthday. Dimmer switch, laser pointer. It’s got a blacklight mode, too,” Ella said, walking toward the kitchen as she fiddled with the switch. “Not as good as the ones we use at work, but top of the line civilian tech, it’ll pick up all kinds of… _hijo de puta_ ,” she swore suddenly, and Chloe stood up so quickly she almost smacked her head on the interior overhang of the bar. “ _¿Qué sucedió aquí_?”

“What is it?” Chloe asked, but it was obvious as soon as she had straightened up. The low black leather couch, even under the civilian version of the UV bulb, had lit up like a Christmas tree. The leather had been wiped down with some care, but the seams of the center cushion gleamed like EL wire, and the outline of a pool of… fluid was still visible, splashed down the front of the couch and onto the hardwood beneath. A _large_ pool. “Oh, my God,” Chloe said. “That’s… a lot of blood.”

“Whoa, Chloe! It took me a second, too,” Ella said, muffling a giggle with her hand. “I know, we’re used to murder scenes, but that isn’t blood. it can’t be. What that is,” she proclaimed, in a tone that was as impressed as it was horrified, “is a _sex couch_. Man, I knew Lucifer was into some freaky stuff, but I can’t even imagine… oh no. Nope. Yeah, I’m imagining now,” she said. “Ugh. Let’s… not sit down anywhere, okay? Or lean on anything,” as she swept the blacklight behind the couch, picking up UV glimmers on the floor by the bar.

“Good idea,” Chloe said faintly. Like all the other furniture, the couch looked new: no scuffs on the wood or leather, no sag in the cushions. The place was like a showroom. “Let’s check the kitchen.”

Ella’s flashlight, still in blacklight mode, picked up more UV-reactive traces between the kitchen tiles, in front of the sink. Two empty decanters, matching the filled and sealed ones Chloe had seen under the bar, were rinsed out and sitting on the sideboard. Chloe flipped the hood light over the stove on, reckoning it wouldn’t be visible from the front of the house.

“Hey,” Ella said. “Over here.”

Laying flat against the seat of the breakfast nook, like it had fallen out of a pocket, was a phone, one of the models that Lucifer preferred. Chloe picked it up, and part of the case fell off. “Oh,” she said. The faceplate of the phone was crazed with spiderweb lines, radiating out from a hole in the glass.

Ella also recognized the phone. And the damage. “That’s a bullet hole. Does it go all the way through? Geez. Maybe I was wrong about the sex couch.”

“Looks like it glanced off the side,” Chloe said, wishing for an evidence bag as she tucked the phone into her jacket. “At least we know he was here today, that’s something.” An incongruity caught her eye. “Can you check out the bedroom and bathroom on the other side? I’ll see what the pantry and fridge have to offer.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ella said, and took most of the light with her as she walked back across the sitting room. Chloe peered into the pantry, at the weird gleam she’d seen through the doorway. It was another decanter, close cousin to the ones at the bar, but this one was almost completely full of small round pebbles, uniform in size and color but subtly various in shape. She knew exactly what they were, even before she tried to shift the bottle and couldn’t do it one-handed: bullets deformed by impact.

And she remembered something. Or not a memory, exactly. More of a sensory impression of impossibly loud noise, the taste of copper in the air, and Lucifer screaming. Just a flash, between Marcus’s man firing and waking up on the roof, like Chloe’s consciousness for a second had peeked in, gone _nope, not dealing with this_ , and blinked back out.

“Well, what does _that_ mean?” Chloe asked herself, and flicked the stove light off before she went to go find Ella.

“The grooming kit in the bathroom is missing its tweezers,” Ella reported briskly. “Is that a clue? I can’t even tell any more. And someone opened a box of exam gloves, I’m guessing not Lucifer. So maybe Dan _was_ here. If Lucifer got clipped, they probably went to a hospital, I can start calling…”

Chloe heard Ella’s phone vibrate in her pocket, and then a second later, so did hers. “Oh, huh,” Ella said. “Text from Dan. It says…”

“Wait, no, I just got one too. Lucifer turned up and Dan’s ‘handling it’.”

Ella sighed. “Someone really ought to tell Dan that texts aren’t telegrams and he isn’t getting charged by the word, it would be nice if he would explain things, ever.”

 _You’re telling me_ , Chloe thought, as another message popped up. ‘You owe me a pizza’?”

“Well, that’s quirky. What did you bet him a pizza against?”

Chloe had to think about it. “It’s been a while since I bet him a pizza against anything, like before he gave up carbs. Oh! Wait, Lucifer’s accent. He bet me Lucifer wasn’t…” Chloe broke off. _Guess I do owe Dan a pizza_ , she thought.

“From London?” Ella guessed. “Of course Dan would spot it, he does accents really well.”

“He… does?”

“Oh yeah,” Ella said, laughing, “you should go to the Paddock on Thursday nights more often, his Lucifer impression is completely… uh…”--something in Chloe’s expression warned her to change the subject--“...irrelevant to the circumstances at hand,” she finished, somberly. “So. Dan’s with Lucifer. I guess he'll be in touch. Uh, does that mean we’re done here?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Chloe said. “Sometimes being a detective means knowing when to go home and fill out your paperwork. If you’re up for it, Ella, I could use your help with something.”

“Help you with some paperwork?” Ella asked, unironic enthusiasm in her voice. Chloe nodded. “Hell yeah, let’s do it,” she said.

Chloe drove Ella home and picked up Trixie, who'd already had dinner and finished her homework at Daniela's, so she was able to read to her before it was time to go to bed. But Dan didn't call or text again.

++++

The nurse had been right about the sling. When she woke up the next morning she felt like she had a pinched nerve, and the side of her hand tingled like it was falling asleep if she let it hang. Putting it in the sling was the only way she could ignore it and go about her day. Plus, Chloe thought cynically, as she went in to sign her suspension paperwork, if you're trying to explain to your superiors why you decided to shoot someone, it never hurts to seem a little wounded.

Dan finally caught up to her in the precinct parking garage--he was going in to give a statement and hand in his badge and gun, she was on her way out--and in a moment of mutual silent agreement, they walked briskly together back to Chloe’s car. He looked like shit. He had stress lines around his mouth and eyes that hadn’t been there a week ago, and under his jacket…

“Is that my N’Sync t-shirt?” Chloe asked. Dan shrugged. “I’ve been putting off doing laundry,” he said, exhausting his capacity for small talk. “He told me to tell you he’s back at LUX today. You guys… should talk.” He paused, took a deep breath, and added “Also he’s the actual Devil,” in a rush.

“Yeah, Dan,” Chloe said gently. “I know.”

“I know you do,” Dan sighed, “I just had to say it aloud to someone. It doesn’t seem like it can possibly be real, but at the same time…”

“...it seems like the most real thing there is,” Chloe finished for him.

“Yeah, exactly, like you could tell me right now I’m in the Matrix or I’m a butterfly dreaming it’s a philosopher and I’d say yeah, could be, but Lucifer’s still really the Devil.” He sighed. “Whatever that means. Look, did he kill Pierce?”

“I didn’t see what happened,” Chloe said. “Pierce told me he was going to kill Lucifer, ordered me to step out of the way. I shot him, his man fired back, and next thing I knew I was on the roof.” That much was official, on the record. Chloe took a deep breath and told Dan the off-the-record part. “I was certain we were about to be gunned down. Like, that was _it_. I thought, well, at least I can take him out first, you know? Lucifer saved us. And then he went back for Pierce. They fought. I didn’t see the end, but… Pierce didn’t win.”

Dan nodded, tight-lipped. “I thought as much.” After a moment, he said, “Good.”

“Right,” Chloe agreed. She eyed him askance. “How bad was it?”

Dan looked away. “Pretty bad,” he said. “I did not expect to spend most of my afternoon yesterday pulling 9mm rounds out of the wings of the Lord of Hell, but that’s just how this week is going, I guess.” He was trying for levity but to Chloe, thinking of that heavy jar in the pantry, the picture was uncomfortably vivid.

When Trixie had been six, she’d found a sick stray dog on the way home from Sunday school. It was covered in parasites and was too weak to stand, but it was non-aggressive and had wagged its tail. So they’d brought it home to Dan. Dan had spent hours gently pulling ticks out of the dog’s fur, carefully pulling them out of its ears and between its toes, and he never got frustrated or careless, he just did the job until it was done. Their marriage was already starting to crack by then, but Dan’s tenderness and patience in that one moment had probably delayed their separation another six months.

So yeah, actually Chloe could imagine Dan digging bullets out of the Devil. It was, in fact, a very Dan thing to do. Chloe tried to remember what had become of the dog, but she couldn’t.

“So,” Dan asked after a moment, casually, “now that we’re talking about this, what sort of weird stuff can Lucifer actually do?”

“Like, Devil stuff?” Dan nodded. Chloe’d had some time to think about it. “Well, the ‘tell me what you desire’ thing is real, I’ve seen people confess to all kinds of things they wouldn’t tell anyone on their own. And he’s pretty strong? But not, Superman strong, I don’t think he could pick up a car or anything. He can open locks. Handcuffs, doors. And he scares people.” Chloe paused. “I think that’s it? No, wait, I’ve seen him disappear a few times.”

Dan had been there, too, when Lucifer and Charlotte Richards vanished off the pier. He’d chalked it up to adrenaline. And he _vividly_ remembered that Lucifer could get out of handcuffs. “And yesterday, that whole thing where he was in the middle of a shootout and then everyone who should have had serious questions about that forgot he existed?”

Chloe had been thinking about that, too. “Yeah, that might be something. I don’t know that he does it on purpose, but he seems to control how much attention people pay to what he’s doing. When he wants the spotlight, he gets it, and when he wants to be ignored”-- _usually when I need him to go over interview statements_ , Chloe thought--"he's hard to notice."

“How about his terrifying powers of seduction?” Dan asked.

“Actually, you know what? I don’t think that’s a thing. He’s got an inhuman number of notches on his bedpost,” Chloe said, doubtfully, “but he’s also rich, smooth, and good-looking, I wouldn’t call convincing people to sleep with him a supernatural ability exactly.”

“Are you sure? I mean, he’s been working his way around the station for years, and not just the young impressionable singles.” Dan didn’t believe half of the stories about Lucifer around the station, but even so, it was consistently reported that Lucifer had nailed at least two judges, the superintendent, several prominent figures in the district attorney’s office, and the chief of police. None of whom were in a position to be particularly swayed by money or influence, and several of whom were married. “He could be bending people to his will.”

“Really, Dan. _This_ is the thing you’re worried about?” Chloe asked.

Dan shrugged. “I just… want to be sure he’s not coercing people,” he lied. Chloe knew that exact pattern of hesitate-break-eye-contact-then-look-very-forthright from when they were married. _Did Lucifer and Dan ever…?_ No, they couldn’t possibly have. If nothing else, Lucifer would definitely not have been able to keep it to himself.

“I’m not sure how you’d be able to tell, honestly,” Chloe began, but as soon as she started to think about it, she did have an idea. “Oh! Wait, no, I do know. That drug mule case with the flight attendant, where we got a bunch of his partners to go on the record. Remember that?” Dan nodded. “We weren’t looking for signs of… I dunno, Devil mind control, but a lot of those people gave pretty detailed accounts of their, uh, activities. You could try going through those.”

Dan whistled. “Weren’t there a hundred or so? In two months?”

“Hey, you asked. And you’re here, and your suspension hasn’t officially started yet. They’d probably let you take a look at some old files if you wanted.”

Dan rubbed his eyes. “That's actually not a bad idea. Thanks, Chloe. I guess I'm… just trying to get my head around it, a piece at a time.”

“I know that feeling. Hey,” she said. “Do you remember when we brought that dog home, with all the ticks?”

If Dan guessed why she had thought of that, he didn’t show it. “Yeah?”

“What happened to it?”

“You don’t remember? It had a microchip. When I took it to the vet, it popped up an owner name and address. In Santa Ana. They came and got it, it had been missing for almost two months. They sent us a card, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Chloe said. She remembered the card, now that Dan mentioned it. “Thanks, Dan. Take care, okay?” He nodded, preoccupied, and went into the station without her. Chloe watched him go.

It was time to deal with the Devil.

++++

LUX was almost never truly empty. Sure, it kept regular club hours, but there were daytime staff: mostly custodial, plus one or two people to do inventory, place orders, and answer the phone. A few regulars sleeping off their hangovers or come-downs on the couches or lounges were also tolerated, more often than not. Not today, however. When Lucifer wanted the place to himself, he got it.

Stowed away, his wings didn’t quite exist on this plane, but they were still anchored to his earthly body. The ache of them healing was much less troublesome than it had been when they were disrupted with lead, but it was still cramping the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms in sympathy. Drinking the pain away would only get him so far, it seemed, so he decided he could do worse than brood over the piano. He was self-aware enough to admit to himself that he was, indeed, brooding; although doing it downstairs at least felt a little more like practice than like sitting alone at home waiting for the Detective to call.

He was working through his Nina Simone set when he heard the doors open and close. He continued playing for a moment, until he was sure; until he recognized the unmistakable pattern of her footsteps closing the distance between the exterior doors and the dance floor. He turned.

“Detective?”

Consciously or unconsciously, he hit the exact same note of concern and hope as when Chloe had seen him last, crouched over Pierce’s body and then standing up with his face _wrong_ , and she was transported back to that moment, the lightning-fast wash of shock and fear that he’d been hurt, then understanding and horror, then betrayal, and then one more emotion, one pure note of feeling that rose up clearer and stronger than anything else.

Relief. Overwhelming, tension-breaking relief. In that moment of seeing the Devil, her partner, for who he was, Chloe Decker finally knew she _wasn’t_ crazy. She wasn’t imagining things. Lucifer wasn’t manipulating her or playing elaborate metaphorical mind games, he wasn’t delusional or on the verge of a psychotic break, he didn’t have a sinister secret criminal enterprise that was going to ruin her career when she finally uncovered it; he was just the Devil, and always had been. _Well thank God,_ had been Chloe’s immediate thought.

Which she would have told him when the adrenaline had throttled down enough that she could compose a coherent thought, but then SWAT had breached the building and Lucifer had been unable to look human again and without any time to think about it, she’d sent him away. She hadn’t thought about what that would mean to him. She didn’t count on him taking a key piece of evidence as he left. She hadn’t realized that everyone would just kind of… forget he existed.

And now here they were, back where they started. Him at his piano, her trying to remember how to spell “immortal”. Trying to fit him into her world.

She held up the file folder in her hands, like an offering, or a shield. “I brought a statement,” she said, “for you to sign. Since no one seems to feel like they need to bring you in for an interview, there should be something on file if anyone decides to look.” If Chloe hadn’t been watching for it, she might not have noticed, but Lucifer was stiff. She could see it in the hesitation before he leaned forward to stub out his cigarette, the way he turned his whole upper body toward her instead of just his head. He _was_ hurt.

Lucifer accepted the papers without looking at them. “Ah, of course. There should be a statement from me, I suppose. Glad I’m spared the tedium of trying to write one myself, truly.” He tapped the folder. “Is any of it true?”

Chloe smiled, having anticipated this. “I figured you’d ask. Ella and I came up with it, late last night. Read it, if you want. It's true _enough_. It fits the available facts, at least all the ones the investigation will uncover.”

“But not the whole truth?” he pressed.

“Well, it doesn’t mention the parts where you sprouted wings and protected me from a hail of gunfire, no.”

“Or the part where I killed Cai-... Pierce?” he asked.

“Another detail I might have left out,” Chloe said, closing the distance between them. “So you did kill him,” she sighed. “I wasn’t… the scene was such a mess, and the knife didn’t look like anything you’d… I wasn’t sure.”

Lucifer’s jaw set and he looked away from her. “Yes, I know, I’m a monster. Undoubtedly I will be punished, you needn’t worry yourself on that score. My Father has expressed his feelings about his children killing humans: even fallen angels, even twisted and ancient humans. I’m on the hook for a big heaping helping of Dad’s wrath, and I wouldn’t recommend staying around to watch, if that’s what you’re here for; He’s not known for taking bystanders into account when he decides to go the Old Testament route.”

“Lucifer…” Chloe said, putting her hand on his arm. He flinched and the abrupt movement cost him, she could see it in his eyes, but whatever physical pain he was in, she could see the emotional weight he was carrying was worse. She carried a similar one, several times over.

Devil or not, Lucifer was a civilian, and there were just some things you could not say to civilians. “I’m really sorry,” she said, instead.

That snapped him back from wherever he’d gone. “Sorry? What do _you_ have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I had a shot at him and I whiffed it,” she said. “And you had to… finish it. It shouldn’t have been you.”

Lucifer gave her a quizzical look. “Who else could it have been? Pierce was my responsibility. _Is_ ,” he corrected. “Is my responsibility.”

“Hey, save some responsibility for the _peace officer_ who _shot first_ ,” Chloe said. “Look, I didn’t have a plan and I didn’t see a way out that didn’t end up with both of us shot dead in the next ten seconds, and the only good I could see in that situation was taking Pierce out, too. I don’t know what that makes me, but I do know what it makes you.” She softened her voice. “You put yourself between me and a lot of bullets, Lucifer. You’re… my partner. You’re a lot of things, maybe more things than I can really ever understand, but you’re not like him.

“Marcus--Cain--he didn’t have to be what he became. If he really was cursed to be immortal, then God made him what he was, and turned him loose on the rest of us. You had to stop him. It’s good,” she said, watching his face, “that you did.”

Some tension eased in Lucifer and a ghost of his familiar innuendo crept into his voice. “So I’m guessing, then, you’re not here to arrest me? I don’t see handcuffs.”

Chloe shook her head. “I’m not officially here. Not Detective today, just Chloe. I handed in my badge and gun this morning. Suspended, pending investigation. We all are.The FBI’s got the case now.”

“Yet you brought paperwork,” Lucifer said, glancing the folder he’d set on the piano.

“Well, we both know I have a hard time stepping back from the job,” she said, sitting down on the piano bench next to him. “And seeing what’s in front of me.”

“Ah,” he said, and he actually avoided eye contact for once. “Well, I’m sure you have questions: ask away. I’ll answer anything I can.”

“A few. Starting with: for real, how badly are you hurt. Honestly.”

“I’ve had worse,” he said. Chloe gave him a hard look, and he admitted, “Not recently. Though I have caught an awful lot of bullets since I came to L.A.. You people do love your guns.”

Which gave Chloe another thing she’d forgotten to sit down and think about. People, Chloe knew from unfortunate first-hand experience, tended to fall down when you shot them, unless they were on serious drugs or so pumped full of adrenaline they were past thinking, because people knew what being shot meant. Lucifer, when he goaded her into shooting him, had reacted like an animal. Like an innocent. He’d just stood there, continuing to do his Lucifer thing, until his leg wouldn’t support him any more. And the second time she was certain she’d seen him shot...

“You did die,” Chloe said, already making the connection, “and get better.”

“I did,” Lucifer said. Chloe had always known Amenadiel’s explanation with the blood packs didn’t make any sense. She’d seen his face, his utter shock when Malcolm actually shot him, but even if he was _that good_ an actor, there’d been the blood pool around Lucifer when he “died”. Lucifer couldn’t have concealed gallons of blood packs under his fitted jacket--blood that had vanished completely after he got up, so completely that Chloe had wondered if she’d imagined it. Somehow.

And there it was again, the relief. What she had seen was real.

“Explain… all of this,” she gestured at him. “Explain why you only get hurt sometimes. Explain why bullets only hit you sometimes. Maze said I make you vulnerable.”

“Ah,” he sighed. “One of the _difficult_ questions.”

Chloe resettled her arm sling on her neck. “That’s not an answer.”

“I know,” Lucifer said, “I’m working up to it. As near as I can tell, there are two possible answers, and I’m afraid you’re not really going to like either of them.”

“Just tell me, Lucifer,” Chloe said.

He nodded. “All right. It’s possible, but I think, unlikely, that I make _myself_ physically vulnerable when I’m around you, as an expression of the emotional vulnerability you make me feel.”

“That’s possible?”

“For celestial beings, yes. It seems we create our own reality out of…”--his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile--“metaphors. The other possibility, and the one I think is more likely, is that it has something to do with the manner of your, er, conception.”

“My what? Lucifer, if this is an Antichrist sort of scenario I promise I’m going to scream and never, ever stop,” Chloe warned him.

Lucifer looked gratifyingly appalled. “No! No, nothing like that, as far as I know your parents are your parents, nothing funny happened there, except that… well, they wanted a child but were unable to have one, and my father sent Amenadiel to, grant them a miracle. You.”

“Um,” Chloe said. “Does he do that a lot?”

“Only the once, that I know of.”

“So you’re saying…”

“That my Father made you and made certain you’d cross my path, yes. I hope you can understand now why, when I found out, I had to… skip town for a while. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure what you said you felt about me...” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want what I thought you were compelled to give.”

“When was… oh. Wait. You went to Vegas and married Candy because… you thought I didn’t have any choice in how I felt about you? And you wanted me to have a choice.” He nodded. “But you came back. Why did you come back?” Whatever his reasoning was, he couldn’t articulate it. He just looked at her helplessly. “Lucifer, that’s…” Insane, she wanted to say. But no, that was unfair. It made perfect sense, if she remembered that Lucifer wasn’t human.

Speaking of which. “Can I see them?” she asked. “The wings?”

“See…? Why would you want to?”

Chloe looked aside. “Well, I’ve seen the… dark side of you. If you’re finally sharing this with me, I’d like to see the light side, too.”

Lucifer shook his head. “That’s not really…”

Chloe held out her hand. “I know, I know. Devil, fallen angel, playboy junkie, police consultant, it’s all you. I’m a mother and a cop and most people who recognize my name think of my boobs back in 1999, I get it. But just… let me see anyway. Please? I just want to know...” and she couldn't finish, couldn't say  _that you didn't cut them off_ to his face. But he relented anyway.

Lucifer stood up. “You might want to step back, Detective,” he said. “The wretched things have a mind of their own sometimes, and I don’t want to hit you.” Chloe obeyed, stepping back to the edge of the piano, which was apparently good enough. Lucifer straightened his cuffs, rolled his shoulders back, and his wings unfurled behind him as though they’d been folded in some normal fashion just out of sight. Chloe made a quiet, dismayed sound.

“Oh, Lucifer,” Chloe said sadly. They were no longer streaked with blood, but in some ways this made the damage more visible, not less. Lucifer had pulled the broken feathers, rather than waiting for them to fall out, and there was hardly an intact large feather left; nearly all the primaries and most of the secondaries were gone, and many of the smaller feathers were broken or twisted on their shafts. Chloe couldn’t help comparing them in her mind to the breathtaking, if false, wings she’d seen on display at the auction house, and by that measure they were very shabby indeed.

“It’s genuinely not as bad as it looks,” Lucifer said, reading her expression. “Now, anyway. They’re healing, slowly. The feathers will grow back, given time. Like I said: I've had worse.”

Chloe struggled to imagine it."What's worse than four guys with automatics trying to shoot them off?"  
  
"A lake of fire," Lucifer said quietly, and there was something awful and ancient in his eyes for a second before he blinked and pulled a smirk back on. "Took me ages to get the sulfur stink out of them. Count yourself lucky." Chloe reached out, and Lucifer’s wing twitched back, folding away from her. “Careful,” Lucifer warned.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Chloe said.

“No, I mean that some of the feathers are still sharp. Mind your fingers.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, and now that she was looking for it she could see the bladed gleam on one of the unbroken feathers at the leading edge of the wing. She reached out her hand again to stroke the safer-looking palm-sized covert feathers at the bend of Lucifer's wing, which were even softer than she had imagined, and Lucifer closed his eyes. “Does that hurt?”

“It really, really does not,” Lucifer said, without opening his eyes, and Chloe wondered where on the scale of intimacy from “handshake” to “handjob” wing-fondling fell exactly. Probably that was something she should learn before she buried her face in them, as she suddenly wanted to do. She pulled her hand away. Lucifer made a quiet "hmm" sound, rolled his shoulders back, and the wings folded impossibly away again, not even ruffling his waistcoat as they passed through it. It was disquieting to see.

“So what now? You can’t just go on pretending to be human,” Chloe said.

“I never pretended to be human,” he said. “Has anything important changed?” It sounded like a rhetorical question, but… Lucifer never asked rhetorical questions. He actually wanted an answer, and one only Chloe could give. “Because nothing’s changed for me. I’m still the same person, Chloe,” he went on, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. “The only difference is that you believe what I tried so many times to tell you.”

“That’s not the only difference, Lucifer. Everything I _know_ is wrong. I don’t think I can go back to the way things were.”

Lucifer nodded, a single curt nod of resignation, like this was the blow he’d been waiting to receive from her. “I thought you’d say that. Very well, give me a few days to make arrangements and you’ll never see me again, I promise.”

“Wait, no. You thought I’d say that?” Chloe repeated, aghast. “No, I mean… we have to start doing things differently. Together. Starting with you signing that statement.”

Lucifer sat back down again. “Wait, you still want to be… partners? A crime-solving duo?”

“Yes. Of course I do. We’re a good team, Lucifer. But we need to work out some things first,” Chloe said. “I made a list, actually… well, I’ll show you later. But, like, first of all, I need to find out exactly how far away I need to be from you before you’re invulnerable again. If you can only be hurt when I’m physically nearby, we need to have a plan for if you take a serious hit. I mean, what’s the first aid scenario? Do I sprint away from you so you can recover? And you have _got_ to be more careful. No tackling people,” she said, “with puny 4-inch knives, to protect me, when _I have a gun_.”

Lucifer stared at her in astonishment. “What about the fact that I broke God’s only divine law? Or the curse of Cain, and my Dad’s sevenfold vengeance? If you stick around me you’ve got that to look forward to.”

“Yeah. That,” Chloe said. “I’m not worried about it.”

“You’re not worried about _divine wrath_?” Lucifer asked incredulously.

“Look, no offense, Lucifer, but… I mean, definitely talk to Linda about this, but your father--the Almighty--has been pretty hands-off with you so far. I mean, let me know if I missed something major, but I think you’re, um. Projecting. A lot.” Lucifer started to protest and she cut him off. “No, I’m not saying you’re wrong--I mean, I thought your dad sounded like an asshole when I assumed he was an ordinary abusive human parent. I can’t imagine a single thing Trixie could do that would make me cast her away, or think she deserved to be punished eternally, and _I'm_ not all-seeing, all-knowing, or all-powerful. What's God's excuse?”

“You think God,” Lucifer said slowly, “is an arsehole. For how he treated me.”

“For a few reasons,” said Chloe, who had been thinking about what it meant that Hell existed and some people went there, but they could talk about that later. “I meant what I said before, about Marcus. I’m pinning that one on God, not you, and if God tries to punish you for cleaning up His mess, I’m gonna want to have a serious discussion with Him about it first.”

“You're going to take on my Father?” Lucifer asked, a note of wonder in his voice. “On my behalf?”

“It's what I do,” Chloe said, simply. “Protect and serve. Who knows, maybe I can reason with him. And if the Almighty Creator is _irrational_ , then nothing I do about it matters and I might as well just do whatever.”

“Blaise bloody Pascal would be proud.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I almost feel sorry for Dad, the old bastard,” Lucifer said, admiringly. “Almost.”

Chloe leaned against him for a moment, and let the silence stretch into something comfortable. Companionable. After a moment, Chloe said “I’d better get going,” at the same time Lucifer said “Katherine Parker!”

“Sorry, _what?_ ”

“I’ve been trying to figure out why _Working Girl_ is your favorite movie,” he said. “And I think I’ve worked it out. It’s not because you love Tess McGill or Jack Trainer or personal fulfilment through corporate success, it’s because that movie punishes its evildoers exactly the right amount. In such a comprehensive and satisfying way, too. ‘David Lutz is a sleazoid pimp with a tiny dick’. Classic.”

“Who told you about-... Right, Dan,” she guessed. “I mean, that’s part of it, it’s a very watchable movie, but it’s also... “ She stroked the piano keys idly, organizing her thoughts. “Unpretentious. It doesn’t try to be anything it’s not, and that makes it really easy to appreciate, to dig into the details and try to see how they work. And where they don’t work. It was the first movie I remember noticing details of cinematography and nuances of performance in, instead of just seeing it as an entertaining story. So I guess you’re right, it is Katherine Parker, in a way. Sigourney Weaver in that movie made me want to become an actress. And, well, here I am.”

“Is that all? Surely there’s more to it than that,” Lucifer said, flashing one of his quick smiles.

“When I was definitely too young to understand what the movie was about, my dad bought the soundtrack for me. On tape. I played it until it fell apart,” Chloe confessed. “That one song still gives me chills.”

“Ah, of course. Well, I don’t want to keep you, if you’ve other places to be,” Lucifer said. “But… don’t be a stranger.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Chloe said, taking one more thing out of her pocket as she stood up to leave, and setting it on top of the piano. The broken faceplate caught the floor lights. “Replace your phone, Lucifer. I’m tired of not knowing where you are.”

Suddenly in an unadulterated good mood for the first time in days, Lucifer found that the bleak, driving chords of “House of the Rising Sun” no longer suited him. Which is when he had an absolutely marvelous idea, one which gave him something he did need to practice.

He arched his hands over the keys, trying to remember how it went. “Hmm, A sharp major,” he muttered, “F minor… let's see.” He tried a few chords, singing quietly under his breath. “Coming to the edge, running on the water... no,” he pitched his voice up slightly, “Running on the water, coming through the fog…”

He needn’t have bothered trying to concentrate. Not even five minutes later, another detective showed up, with a very different conversation in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the first: This. Chapter. Was. Originally. 4000. Words. Long. But _both_ my wonderful, impossibly demanding beta readers came back with variations on the theme of "loved Ella in the first chapter, write more Ella and give her something to do other than exposition" so... this happened. I had to fiddle the previous chapter's timeline a little to mesh with the stuff I retrofitted to this one.
> 
> Note the second: Chloe's opinion of _Working Girl (1988)_ is not mine; I haven't seen that movie since I was 15 probably and I assume it hasn't aged well (other than the opening shot, which remains incredible and is [on youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZUfWLdbWoAA), CW pre-2001 Manhattan skyline but that match dissolve, wow). She does say some things about the film that echo my overall opinion of TV's _Lucifer_ and why I enjoy it so much. Sometimes the flaws in a thing make the good parts easier to see.
> 
> To those reading for smut, I apologize: next chapter's for you.


	4. Tastefully Unrestrained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ever done any power exchange?” Dan looked at him blankly. “BDSM? Whips-and-chains-type things, in bed?”
> 
> Dan shrugged. “Yeah, a little bit. Everyone has, right? Early on Chloe thought it might be fun. I tied her up and spanked her and we tried to do a thing with hot wax but she kicked me accidentally and I almost set the curtains on fire.”
> 
> Lucifer chuckled, “You tied _her_ up? Mmm. I see why it didn’t work out.”
> 
> “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big heaping bowl of Cap'n Seahare's OOPS! All Porn so if that's not your thing, please don't make it part of this complete breakfast. Otherwise, pour on some vodka and enjoy responsibly.
> 
> Chapter-specific content warnings: BDSM topics and dynamics including restraints, impact play, resistance play, very mild CBT ( _not_ Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, the other one, sorry). PTSD (mention, including a mild flashback that isn't sexual or violent). Dan says "fuck" a bunch of times.

Lucifer had just gotten to the key change in the bridge and was so engrossed in his music that Dan was past the lounges and nearly halfway across the empty dance floor before Lucifer realized he had an audience.

He wondered if he’d met Chloe in the parking structure, they would have barely missed each other for Dan to get here so fast. Probably not, he decided; Chloe had left relaxed and content, and Dan’s affect was bristling with tension as he approached. “How pleasant to see you again so soon, Detective D-...” but Dan was apparently not interested in whether Lucifer was going to finish that sentence with an _-aniel Espinoza_ or an _-ouche_.

“Okay, enough with the divine influence or mojo or whatever it is you’re doing to me,” Dan snarled, his voice rough. “Fine, I’ll have sex with you. Happy?”

Lucifer’s fingers brushed several random keys in a startled discordance and he closed the piano lid with a firm _clack._ “Certainly, Daniel. If you want. What brought this on?”

Dan shook his head, helplessly. “You know perfectly well what.”

“Do I?”

“It’s your wings, isn’t it? You said they had an effect on mortals,” Dan said.

“Well, certainly. Awe and wonder, general speechlessness, a tendency to rethink one’s position on the hereafter,” Lucifer said. “This is the first time I can recall that they’ve made anyone _uncontrollably horny_ for me. Not,” he added, “that I’m complaining. And I do owe you a favor. Care to join me upstairs?”

“Would you please stop talking and just fuck me?” Dan said, through his teeth.

“Right here and now? Bent over the piano?”

Dan shrugged, eyeing the lacquered surface. “I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first.”

Lucifer didn’t disagree. “Mm. Lacks a certain elegance, but there’s something to be said for efficiency.” Lucifer stood up and reached into the piano bench, extracting a bottle of lube and confirming Dan’s suspicions. “I assume you’ve done this before?”

Dan was undoing his belt. “Not recently, but yeah. Start slow.”

“Of course,” Lucifer said agreeably, watching Dan undress.

Hef freedhimself from his trousers, scuffed his shoes off, and stopped, in his boxers and t-shirt. “Uh… don’t let me give you sex advice, but you’re probably gonna want to at least take your pants down for this,” he said.

“I always enjoy this part,” Lucifer said. “Unwrapping, like a candy bar. Take your time.” He meant it sincerely but Dan clearly felt he was being put on and whipped his shirt off. It landed near Lucifer, who eyed it dubiously. “N’Sync? Never guessed you were a fan.”

“Shut up,” Dan advised him, and turned away, tugging his underwear down, putting his hands on the piano and bracing himself. “You got protection? There’s a condom in my wallet if you need one.”

Lucifer had considerable practice extricating himself from fitted clothing in a hurry and quickly had his slacks off and his waistcoat and shirt unbuttoned. That would serve, for now. “Got one right here, Daniel,” he said, reaching into the piano bench again, selecting a condom and rolling it on with a practiced motion as he got behind Dan.

He took a brief moment to admire the view. Dan’s ass was as well-shaped as the rest of him, and hairy in a superbly attractive way under the overhead club lights, pale and downy over his cheeks and darkening toward the crease. Lucifer smoothed his hand into the cleft, wiping off the excess lube and feeling Dan’s asshole clench involuntarily at the contact. He rubbed it with his thumb, not entering, and when he felt the muscle relax a little, he replaced his thumb with the head of his cock. Dan held his breath as Lucifer pressed his slickened cock against his asshole. Lucifer would usually give gentle pressure and let his partner push back against him, let him in at their own pace, but he could feel Dan’s desire to be _taken_ and it gave him a sense of urgency. He pushed into Dan, not quickly but inexorably, feeling the muscle yield to him.

Dan’s hands clenched into fists and he took Lucifer nearly halfway before he gasped “Stop, that’s enough.”

Lucifer held himself in place, feeling Dan spasm around him. “Need me all the way out?” he asked, tracing circles with his thumbs over the dimples above Dan’s tailbone.

“No, just… hold still. For a minute,” Dan panted. “And keep doing that thing with your hands.” Lucifer complied, giving a little more pressure with his thumbs, and felt Dan deliberately relax around him. Lucifer made an impressed sound. “Okay,” Dan said evenly, after another moment. “Pull out a little and push back in. All the way.”

Lucifer drew back slightly, taking just a brief pause to savor the moment, of having Dan “Detective Douche” Espinoza finally bent over and willing under him, here in the middle of LUX, no less. He always assumed this would happen in a supply closet or maybe the evidence lock-up, there were some very sturdy shelves in there. He bent his knees slightly and pushed past Dan’s resistance until he was fully sheathed in his ass. Dan groaned, panting as he adjusted to Lucifer internally, spreading his legs a little wider, and arching his back, but offered no further instructions until Lucifer reached around like a gentleman and found Dan’s prick completely soft. Dan’s soft laugh squeezed around him gently. “Aren’t you considerate,” Dan said quietly. “Told you it had been a while. Just give that a minute,” he said. “Go ahead, you can move,” and he pushed back against Lucifer as he suggested it.

Lucifer pulled nearly out, then leaned forward, spearing Dan with his weight. Dan groaned gratifyingly. “Fuck,” Dan said.

“Yes,” and Lucifer let Dan have several slow plunging thrusts in a row. Lucifer drew himself all the way out, watching Dan’s asshole clench hungrily as he reapplied lube to himself, then grabbed Dan’s hips and pushed back into him, meeting no resistance this time. He set a firm but not punishing pace, letting Dan squirm, wondering if there would be a Dan-print on top of his piano and if he could perhaps varnish over it to make it permanent.

Dan was making soft urgent noises and Lucifer thrust more briskly, trading depth for speed, and tried to find an angle that would make Dan really vocalize for him. Alas, living with a small child had trained Dan to go about his business quietly; Lucifer wasn’t going to get anything out of him that way. He was tight and eager, though, and as Dan clenched and writhed on him Lucifer realized he’d better take steps if he didn’t want this to be over too soon.

He wiped a little extra lube onto his hand and reached around again, squeezing Dan’s ass with his other hand. And now Dan’s cock filled his grip, thick and eager. Lucifer gave it a firm squeeze and felt it jump in his fingers, delightfully sensitive and ready for some attention, which he was only too happy to provide. Dan kept it quiet but Lucifer could feel him starting to let go, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he neared the edge.

Dan, delightfully, swore quietly in Spanish as he came, his voice muffled by the piano as the crook of his arm but Lucifer definitely heard a _diablo_ , which made him smile. He pulled back carefully, letting Dan’s body push him out, and left Dan gasping and draped over the piano while he disposed of the condom behind the bar.

Dan watched Lucifer’s erection bob jauntily between his legs as he walked back to the piano. “Wait, you didn’t _finish?_ ” Dan said.

“No,” Lucifer said. “Is that a problem?”

Dan groaned, his own cock flopping wetly against his leg as he turned around, still leaning on the piano. “It doesn’t _count_ if you didn’t…”

“ _Ah_ ,” Lucifer said. “I _thought_ there was more to this than our unresolved sexual tension,” and before Dan could sputter _Our what?_ he’d gone on to ask “Why are you _really_ here, Daniel, hmm?” Lucifer looked into Dan’s eyes with a Devilish smile. “What do you truly want from me?”

Dan froze, his blue eyes wide with dawning horror. “You… you’re doing the _thing_ on me. Which is an actual superpower you have, not a trick or a game.”

“More of a divine gift, but yes, I am,” Lucifer admitted, without shame, holding eye contact. “So, you might as well tell me, we both know you want to. What exactly are you doing here, Detective Espinoza?”

This time Dan could feel it. It wasn’t a compulsion, exactly; nothing so concrete, nothing that he could fight. Just a growing conviction that telling the truth about what he actually desired would be easier, would feel better, than keeping it to himself. “I told myself it was the wings doing something to me, but that was just an excuse,” he said quickly, hoping that would be enough. It wasn’t. “The truth is that I want... to feel something other than grief, I want to switch my brain off for a few hours, and…” he squeezed his eyes shut, “well, not that long ago, we had ninety-two people go on the record to say you could do that.”

“Been reading up on me, have you?” Lucifer said, thoughtfully. “I’m flattered by your esteem for my skills, but… really, you thought a quick shag over the grand would resolve all your emotional issues?”

It did sound a bit ridiculous, said outright like that. Dan looked away, somewhat ashamed. “I thought it might _help_ ,” he said, bitterly. “You’re right, it was stupid to come here. I’ll go,” he said quickly, reaching for his pants.

“Daniel, wait,” Lucifer said. Dan paused. “The idea is sound, it’s the timeframe that’s off. Give me more than ten minutes and I can probably resolve _some_ of your emotional issues.” He cocked his head invitingly. “If you’d care to indulge me with a wager?”

Dan was still breathing a little hard, but his voice was even. “Bet against the Devil? That seems like a terrible idea. The sort of terrible idea that people write _folk songs_ about.”

“Oh, no,” Lucifer said. “Not at all. I never bet on a sure thing. There’s no fun in a game you can’t lose.” When there were no further objections, he went on. “So: if you can bring me off with your hands before you get hard again, you can fuck my mouth before I send you home, and a blowjob from the Devil is a gift not to be turned down, believe me.”

“Before _I_ get hard again?” Dan asked. Lucifer just looked at him, waiting. Dan sighed. “And if I can’t?”

“We go upstairs, and I get to keep you here until morning,” Lucifer said. Dan clearly hadn’t expected that. If Lucifer had a working phone, he would have taken a picture of Dan’s face in that moment.

“All _night?_ What would we even _do_?”

“Oh, I can think of some things,” the Devil said, a smile quirking his lips. “Well?”

Dan looked at Lucifer thoughtfully. “Only my hands?”

“I like the direction your thoughts are going,” Lucifer said. “Let us say: anything you brought in on your own person.”

“Fine,” Dan said. He’d given up his badge and his service weapon, but he unhooked his handcuffs from his belt, “You’re on.”

“Lovely,” said Lucifer. “We have a deal. And I see you have a plan.”

“Can you lift your arms yet?” Dan asked.

It was kind of him to remember. “Not above the shoulder, not for long,” Lucifer admitted.

“Hands behind your back, then.” Lucifer complied, let Dan cuff him. “No smartass remarks?”

Lucifer laughed. “Strangely no, every time I imagined you putting cuffs on me it was always because I was under arrest.” _What I imagined happening later on, in interrogation, I won’t mention_ , Lucifer added to himself. “Although… of course, you realize I can get out of these,” Lucifer felt obligated to point out.

Dan snorted. “I also know you obey Roger Rabbit rules and you’ll keep them on until you can think of a reason to take them off. So just… enjoy them as a reminder not to try anything clever with your hands for a minute.”

“Yes, Officer,” Lucifer said, smirking.

“It’s ‘Detective’,” Dan corrected, gently pushing Lucifer down onto the piano bench. Lucifer folded up, leaning back against the piano and letting his cuffed hands dangle in the space between. It was a little uncomfortable, but not so much so that he couldn’t wait and see where Dan was going with his. He set his shoulders carefully and took a deep breath as Dan settled between his knees and reached for him.

Given that Dan never talked about his sexual experience with men, and all his history that Lucifer knew about was with women, Lucifer expected him to be hesitant, tentative, to have to work up to it. He was ready to savor a little bit of Dan’s sweet uncertainty as he started too gently and gained confidence. Dan had other ideas.

Dan took him in both hands, the grip on his cock firmer than the one Lucifer would have chosen. He pulled Lucifer’s foreskin back like he was testing how far it would go, then let it slide back over his glans before starting to jack him with workhorse efficiency. At the same time, Dan’s other hand encircled Lucifer’s balls, pulling them slowly away from his body until a tight fiery line shot from them into his belly, a taut bowstring counterpoint to the brisk handjob. Lucifer had to force himself not to immediately unlock the handcuffs; it was… it was… _rude_ , there was no other word for it. But then again, Dan knew Lucifer wasn’t human.

Lucifer gasped. “Too much?” Dan asked. “Chloe’s not here, I can’t actually hurt you.”

“No,” Lucifer said, not sure whether he was disagreeing with the first statement or agreeing with the second, as his private parts were pulled with delicious intensity in opposite directions. Although he wanted to watch Dan’s shoulders while he worked, he let his head fall back to focus on the sensation instead, which was like nothing anyone had tried to do to him before. Dan was gently twisting his balls back and forth as he worked the shaft of his cock now, it was incredible. He wanted to thrust against Dan’s hand but the pressure on his balls said _do not_. He arched his back against the piano instead and the pain that shot through his upper arms was the only thing that saved him from losing his wager on the spot.

He hadn’t _lied_ to Dan, he’d known there was a decent chance that Dan might reveal some hidden talent that would be the undoing of him, but he’d intended to make a better showing than this. The former Lord of Hell could last for more than a minute in the hands of a mortal, even if that mortal had, Lucifer had to admit, truly formidable arm muscles.

Lucifer spread his thighs a little wider and scooted down on the bench, using the movement to cover the telltale click as he unlocked the handcuffs. The ache in his shoulders eased as he was able to move his wrists apart. But that wasn’t why he’d moved: he was getting close, Dan’s dangly bits remained infuriatingly soft, and the more Dan worked him the more he wanted him to himself for the rest of the night, not just for a quickie in the club. He hoped Dan would take advantage of the new territory he’d just exposed.

Dan, gratifyingly, did. Releasing Lucifer’s balls with a squeeze, he licked his fingers, middle and index, and pressed them against Lucifer’s anus with intent. With no more warning than that, he plunged his fingers into Lucifer, as deep as they would go. Lucifer assisted, tilting his hips and letting Dan in. “Fuck,” Dan said. “You’re hot,” as his knuckles seated between Lucifer’s buttocks.

Lucifer couldn’t stifle a broad smile. “I know.”

“I mean, you’re really, really warm inside. More than feverish. Wow.” Still stroking Lucifer’s cock, Dan focused his attention on his penetrating fingers, curling them and eliciting a moan from Lucifer, who clenched around him in response.

“Amazing how obvious it is that I’m not really human,” Lucifer said, panting. “When you look in the right place.”

Dan smiled at that. Lucifer’s G-spot, if he had one, was deeper than his fingers could reach, so he added his ring finger and started to thrust, returning his attention to the hand wrapped around Lucifer’s dick. He could feel that Lucifer was getting close, and he wanted to see the Devil come.

Lucifer was shuddering under his hands, which was less diagnostic of how near he was to orgasm than the fact that he’d finally stopped talking. Dan curled his fingers into Lucifer’s wringing heat, as deep as they would go, and jacked him fiercely, focusing on the head of his cock. Lucifer’s ass tightened on Dan’s fingers to the point where he could no longer move his hand, and then the Devil finally gave it up, coming slippery and almost burning hot over Dan’s fingers with a deep, fulfilled moan.

Dan stroked him through it with more gentleness than he’d displayed so far and then looked around vainly for something to wipe his hands on, other than their clothing.

“Oh that’s _lovely_ ,” Lucifer said, and something in his voice made Dan glance up at him. Lucifer was looking pointedly between Dan’s legs. “I win,” he said.

Dan followed Lucifer’s gaze down to see the most raging hard-on he’d had since he was nineteen and discovered there was _porn_ on the _internet_. He’d been so focused on his hands and Lucifer that he hadn’t even noticed. “Oh, goddammit,” Dan said, without thinking.

Lucifer cracked up, and was still laughing when he set Dan’s handcuffs on the piano and went to get a bar towel.

++++

Dan put his pants back on for the ride up the elevator, although Lucifer had told him he didn’t need to. Mostly he didn’t want to lose track of them. Lucifer, of course, remained nearly nude, wearing his unbuttoned shirt and nothing else. The way the shirt concealed and revealed him as he moved around was in some ways more provocative than if he’d actually been fully naked. Not that Dan was going to give him the satisfaction of saying so.

“So you got me here,” he said, a little awkwardly, looking around. “What are you going to do with me?”

“You’ve got a _fascinating_ knot of tangled sweaty desires I’d love to help you unravel. But first, I’d like to restate the offer of a drink.” He was already pouring a double for himself.

“No, thanks,” Dan said, and sighed as reality intruded on his rather pleasant afterglow. Refusing the drink reminded him why he wasn’t drinking, which reminded him of… he squeezed his eyes closed. It didn’t help.

Lucifer knocked back his drink with his usual efficiency. Dan wondered why he stocked the expensive stuff if he never seemed to savor it. “You know what you need?” he asked Dan, abruptly.

“If you say ‘a hot beef injection’ I’m throwing the rest of that in your face.”

Lucifer laughed. “We already did that. And no, that’s not what I was thinking of. Ever done any power exchange?” Dan looked at him blankly. “BDSM? Whips-and-chains-type things, in bed?”

Dan shrugged. “Yeah, a little bit. Early on Chloe thought it might be fun. I tied her up and spanked her and we tried to do a thing with hot wax, but she kicked me by accident and I almost set the curtains on fire.”

Lucifer chuckled. “You tied _her_ up? Mmm. I see why it didn’t work out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucifer didn’t answer the question, just pointedly looked him up and down. “You work out a lot, right?”

Dan wasn’t used to another man looking at him with that much overt desire, and looked quickly away before he could blush, although he was loath to let Lucifer change the subject. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

“Do you like the feeling you get after a hard workout? Or are you more about the ‘during’, about pushing your limits, feeling the strain and knowing you’ll be sore later?”

“Really, what are you…?”

Lucifer took another drink and gestured with his glass. “Answer the question, I’m going somewhere with this.”

“Both, I guess? I don’t see how this relates to us having sex.”

“Wait here,” Lucifer said, and returned after a brief interlude with some highly specialized tools, which he laid out on the bar.

Dan watched him do it, bemused. Some of it he recognized: a riding crop, a wooden paddle, a pair of floggers, one rubber and one--he picked it up--suede. But he couldn’t see the utility of the metal thing that looked like an old-timey spur on a spoon handle. Or the long, broad leather strap that was split down the middle.

“Any of these interest you? To be used on you, obviously. You could hit me with a riding crop if you like but you probably won’t find it very personally fulfilling and I’ll get bored.”

Dan picked up the spoon-handled spur, and flicked the wheel with his finger. The teeth were sharp. “Ow,” he said.

Lucifer gave him a rather put-upon look. “Here,” he said. “Give me your hand,” and he took the instrument from Dan. “It’s a Wartenberg wheel. Medical instrument, originally; they used them to test nerve response, although these days you shouldn’t assume anyone who owns one is a doctor.” He extended Dan’s arm, and held the wheel like a pen as he gently rolled it from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. Dan shivered at the prickling sensation and the way it intensified over the sensitive skin there. He opened his eyes, having failed to notice he’d closed them, and found Lucifer watching him intently. “So you’re not opposed to the idea,” Lucifer said.

“Not… exactly,” Dan said, shifting on the barstool as his trousers tightened. “But letting you hit me seems…”

“I assure you, I’m very good at it,” Lucifer said. “God-given talent, one might say. And if I do it right, you’ll get to achieve the state of mind that you told me was your greatest desire, downstairs.”

It took Dan a minute, but… well, when he put it _that_ way. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Why not.”

“Pick a couple of those, if you want. To get started,” Lucifer suggested.

Dan picked up the split leather strap. It was heavier than it looked like it should be, and the edges were unfinished, almost sharp. “What’s this?”

“A tawse,” Lucifer said. “Interesting choice. Most impact devices will give you thud or sting, but that one gives you both. Try it on your forearm if you want to see what I mean.” Dan gave himself a light smack, feeling the slap of the leather and the way the split in the middle pinched his skin. He… kind of liked it.

He held onto the tawse and picked up the suede flogger. “These,” he said, handing them over.

Lucifer smiled in warm approval at his choices, looking him over. “Now the difficult part,” he said. “Trying to decide how to restrain you. Face up, face down; rope, leather, handcuffs…” Dan caught his breath, feeling a flash of panic tighten his throat. “Daniel?” Lucifer asked.

“It’s nothing,” Dan said, annoyed at himself. “It’s… fine.”

“Hm. Something about being tied up bothers you? Something… ah, yes, I remember,” Lucifer said. “That”--he shot a glance at the clown mermaid on the wall--”fine art misadventure. Look, I did apologize for that, I genuinely thought you had a plan other than ‘being tied to a chair and beaten’ or I would have intervened sooner. There should be a code word we use in situations like that. I suggest ‘monk-’...”

“No,” Dan said sharply. “That’s… well, that wasn’t fun but there was... another time. Before that. Malcolm.” As soon as said the name he could hear the voice, too, and smell the kimchi he’d knocked onto the dusty floor, and he curled his lip in disgust.

“Daniel. Dan?” Lucifer said, and Dan's attention snapped back to him. “The aim is to have fun, not actually torture you. No restraints. In fact, you’ve given me a really interesting idea,” Lucifer said, gathering up the flogger and the tawse and cocking his head toward the bed. “Follow me.”

++++

Dan ended up in a face-down spread-eagle on Lucifer’s enormous bed, at Lucifer’s direction. Very, very _spread_ eagle; Lucifer took his ankles and positioned his feet far enough apart that it was almost uncomfortable. Then, somewhat to Dan’s alarm, Lucifer scooped his hand between Dan’s legs, drawing out his junk and positioning it so his penis was pointing down and away from his body instead of tucked safely into the crease of his thigh. Dan felt very exposed.

“Lovely,” Lucifer said. “Tastefully unrestrained. Now, I could just hit you, but it’s more fun for us both if there’s a reward and punishment. So: your goal is to keep your hands and feet where they are, while I use _this_ ,” and he slapped the flogger across his palm. Dan barely had time to think that didn’t sound like much of a challenge, before Lucifer, without warning, snapped the suede flogger across his ribcage, producing a wash of pain and a completely involuntary movement of Dan’s elbow to protect the spot. Lucifer gently moved his hand back where he wanted it. “Move your hands or your legs, and you get the tawse,” and by way of demonstration, he gave Dan a light smack across the shoulders with the implement he had named, giving him just a taste of how the heavier, more focused impact would feel. Dan gasped but didn’t move this time. “Understand?”

Dan nodded, then said, “Yes. Should there be, uh, a safeword?”

“Only if you want to play the kind of game where you can say ‘stop’ and have me continue. Otherwise ‘stop’ or ‘no’ or ‘wait’ is enough to be getting on with. I’ll be listening carefully. Ready?”

“Wait,” Dan said. He wasn’t sure whether to brace for it or relax into it, and decided to try relaxing first; he could certainly tense up later. He closed his eyes and did an exercise from improv class, inhaling and exhaling in counts of four while he imagined himself as a stretch of sand on the beach, soaking up sunlight, letting the surf wash over him. He felt his shoulders loosen, and said, “Okay, ready.”

Lucifer didn’t hit him immediately. He walked around Dan as though studying him from every angle, slapping the flogger against his palm as he did so. _Trying to make me jump_ , Dan thought. Dan recognized the anticipation was part of the game he was playing, and held the image of sand in his mind until the suede ribbons actually struck him. Which Lucifer did, twice with no warning, parallel blows that lashed each butt cheek with fierce, stinging pain. Dan jerked but managed not to move his hands. “Good,” Lucifer said, “that was very well done, Daniel,” and in the middle of the sentence he hit him again. Dan caught his breath.

He tried to keep an eye on Lucifer and anticipate the flogger that way, but Lucifer had long arms and was clever about it. The straps never quite landed where Dan expected, and eventually he pillowed his face against the sheets and just endured.

And Dan, to his utter surprise, found himself relaxing. The suede flogger could hurt him, but only so much, and it couldn’t really damage him. Certainly not the way Lucifer was using it, concentrating on his upper back and buttocks and staying away from anywhere that wasn’t well-padded, or anywhere a suede tendril might curl around something delicate and draw blood. He stopped flinching away from the individual blows and started feeling them as a whole, warm and sharp and almost pleasant.

And then Lucifer snapped the flogger very precisely on his inner thigh. The suede didn’t graze his scrotum but it did touch the _hair_ on his balls, and Dan slammed his legs closed before his conscious brain even registered the movement. Lucifer must have been waiting for Dan to feel like he wasn’t going to get hit with the tawse. He really was good at this.

Lucifer set Dan’s ankles back where he wanted them, rearranged his privates as they were before. “Ah, a penalty. Delightful. How many strikes with the tawse do you think is fair, Daniel?”

Dan swam up from wherever he’d sunk to, feeling mildly drunk. “Uh, I don’t know. Two?”

“Four it is,” Lucifer agreed, picking up the heavy leather strap and smacking his palm experimentally.

Dan snorted. “What if I’d have said ‘ten’?”

“Then it would also have been four. I’m very fair that way. Ready?”

“Wait,” Dan said again. He tried to conjure up the image of the placid beach, but the water had gotten awfully choppy and there were dark clouds on the horizon that would make him put his surfboard away. Still. _Inhale, count four, exhale, count to four_. “Ready,” he said.

There was no lull this time. Lucifer struck him immediately, harder than he had the first time, across the shoulders, and the tawse was a wildly different experience than the thin suede straps of the flogger. It combined the heavy, thuddy, flat impact of a paddle with the sharp, edged bite of a cane, and if Dan hadn’t seen the leather strap in Lucifer’s hands he might have assumed he’d been hit with something serious. A sword, maybe. Dan choked and knew he’d drawn in his elbows. Lucifer patiently extended his arms again. “It doesn’t count,” Lucifer said, “if you move. Ready?”

“Fuck,” Dan said. “Yes.” The next one wasn’t as hard, but it was across his ass, both cheeks, which were still reddened and stinging from the flogger. Dan bit back a scream but managed not to move his arms; it was only when Lucifer nudged his foot that he realized he’d bent his knee inward.

“Hmm. That one doesn’t count either, I’m afraid. It will be easier not to move if you let yourself make noise, Dan,” Lucifer pointed out. “Go ahead and yell as loud as you like, the whole place is quite soundproofed. Good thing, too, with the parties I throw.” He paused. “Ready?”

Dan was breathing hard, shaking with the tension of holding himself still. He tried to relax but this time he couldn’t do it. “Yes,” he said quickly. Lucifer didn’t wait, and the tawse snapped down across Dan’s ass in almost exactly the same place, nearly overlaying the previous welt. Dan bellowed, a wordless shout of pain, and apparently Lucifer was right: he didn’t move if he yelled instead.

“One,” Lucifer said placidly, and Dan almost screamed again in frustration. He couldn’t stand being hit like that three more times. “You can tell me to stop,” Lucifer reminded him.

Dan didn’t trust himself to answer. His silence was answer enough as he turned his face to the other side. Lucifer walked around him and brought the tawse down on his ass from another angle, crossing the two welts that were already there. Dan’s yell was muffled by the mattress. “Two,” Lucifer said, and trailed the tawse over the livid marks on Dan’s fair skin, following the contours of his spine with the split ends of the strap. Dan relaxed, and tensed beautifully whenever Lucifer lifted the tawse off his skin. “Halfway there,” he added, just to see the shiver. The third smack with the tawse was the hardest yet, across the shoulders again. The split in the leather bit deeply into Dan’s skin and he roared, lifting his head, but before he’d finished doing that, Lucifer hit him again, squarely on the ass, the lower half of his cheeks. It hurt an astonishing amount and the humiliating placement in addition to the pain broke Dan a little. Dan’s last scream broke off in a sob.

“Four,” Lucifer said, touching his shoulder. “It’s okay, Daniel, you can move,” and as though he was waiting for permission, Dan curled up on his side and started crying in earnest, a purely physical response to a physical sensation, but something he needed emotionally, too. Once he started it was impossible to hold it back. Everything that had gotten tangled up together in his soul broke free: Charlotte’s death, Pierce’s betrayal, Chloe almost being killed, the _Devil existing and being a guy Dan knew personally_ … and there was just nothing Dan could do but ride along, and weep into the box of tissues the Devil handed him, without commentary.

Lucifer stroked his arm and the back of his neck and let him cry. When his personal emotional storm had passed, Dan felt a trickle of something between his shoulders, stinging as it went. “Oh,” he said. “Am I bleeding?”

“No,” Lucifer replied. “Sweating,” and he bent down to lick a thin, delicate line along Dan’s spine. The Devil licking the sweat off his back was entirely the most erotic thing to happen to Dan, ever, in his life, and he shuddered. Lucifer asked, ”How do you feel?”

Dan didn’t have words. “It hurts” didn’t come close, and “it feels amazing” missed the point in the opposite direction. What it was _exactly_ like, was when Dan as a teenager used to go hiking in the Sierras and would find the occasional glacial-fed stream to plunge himself into; the way all his nerves screamed at him at initial contact with the icy water and then after a minute or so of intense pain it was nothing but pure, gasping bliss. That’s how Dan felt. He felt transcendent. Of course the part of Dan that could verbalize complex thoughts was still sunk below where he could reach it, so what he said was “Hnnngggh.”

“Good,” Lucifer said. “Just where I want you. You’ve done very well, Daniel. You’ve earned a reward, if you’d like one. Roll over onto your back.” Dan made a yearning sound that probably didn’t deserve the dignity of being called a whimper. But he uncurled and rolled obediently, hissing as his abused buttocks and shoulders made contact with the sheets. Dan shuddered, but didn’t object, as he felt Lucifer positioning his arms and legs again, this time at somewhat less extreme angles, but still splayed out like an erotic starfish.

“Same rules,” Lucifer advised him. “No moving your arms or feet.” And then the Devil’s mouth was on him. Only the press of cotton on the weals on his back kept Dan from squirming. Lucifer licked him gently from balls to shaft and sucked, capturing the tip in his mouth. Dan gasped as the Devil did something with his tongue that was probably illegal in three states a decade ago, and blood throbbed into his groin, deliciously in sync with the throbbing of the welts on his ass. He lifted his head to watch himself growing in Lucifer’s mouth. He tried to thrust, in the limited way he could with his legs as far apart as they were but Lucifer just moved back, teasingly, until he subsided.

When Dan was quiescent, Lucifer very deliberately took his full erection in his mouth, working all the way down the shaft, turning his head to be sure to get his tongue over every part of Dan’s cock. It seemed like a whimsical choice for a blowjob--or just Lucifer showing off--but then he released Dan with a soft gasp and straddled his hips, reaching back to line him up with his entrance.

“Oh, fuck,” Dan said. “Fuck, that’s…” Words failed him again as Lucifer’s almost painful heat engulfed him again, and it took every ounce of willpower he had left not to bring his legs together so he could push all the way in. Lucifer took him slowly, a strange distant expression on his face. The late, golden afternoon light pouring through the huge picture windows on the balcony limned Lucifer’s skin and hair, darkened his eyes and set off the definition in his abs and chest. “Fuck.” Realizing he was getting monosyllabic, he concentrated, licked his lips, and said “You look really good doing that.”

Lucifer noticed Dan admiring his physique and leaned back, supporting himself on his hands as he lifted himself almost all the way off Dan’s cock and sank back down again. “Mmm,” he said, doing it again, “you look good doing _that_.” He checked himself with a wince, and straightened up. “Can’t hold that position for long, though. A pity, that’s a really good angle with you. Ah, well, next time,” Lucifer said. Dan thought _Next time?_ and then he couldn’t think much of anything as Lucifer raised himself on his shins and sank down onto Dan with a satisfied sigh. He stayed down for a moment, grinding on Dan, then lifted himself again.

In no particular hurry, Lucifer set a tantalizingly slow pace, riding Dan’s cock with his leg muscles alone. Dan flexed his fingers and toes. “Please,” Dan said. He could feel his shoulders quivering with the strain of keeping his arms apart and his hands off Lucifer and he realized this was meant to be torture, too. “Fuck, please.”

Lucifer didn’t stop riding him, moving a hand to Dan’s chest for balance as he leaned forward. “Please what?”

“Let me touch you,” Dan whispered.

“My dear Daniel,” Lucifer said. “All you had to do was ask,” and he leaned forward to kiss Dan. Dan returned the kiss, tasting bourbon and something else on Lucifer’s mouth-- _brimstone,_ his imagination supplied, but it wasn’t sulfur, it was something Dan couldn’t describe--and let his hands roam over Lucifer’s body, skimming his ribs and his chest, and then grabbed his ass in both hands as Lucifer sank down on his cock again.

As was no doubt intended, Dan had no leverage to thrust, himself, so he reached for Lucifer, taking his cock in one hand and squeezing it firmly. Lucifer moved faster, tucking his head against Dan’s shoulder. “Oh, yes, Daniel,” he whispered, and the sight of Lucifer giving up that much control made Dan want to take him apart.

He stroked Lucifer with considerably more finesse but no less enthusiasm than he’d demonstrated downstairs, learning quickly where his sensitive spots were. He tried a few different hand positions as Lucifer drove himself down onto Dan’s cock faster and faster. Lucifer was panting into his ear like he had to be close; Dan had held out longer than he thought was possible just by virtue of having his legs so far apart but he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Dan came first, a slow climax that took forever to crest. Dan buried himself in Lucifer with a soft sob as it took him, trembling. “ _Me cago en la leche_ ,” he muttered. “ _Hostia puta_.” Lucifer laughed, but kept pistoning on him until Dan almost begged him to stop. Then, finally, Lucifer was coming, too, and Dan just barely lifted his chin in time to get it in the neck instead of in the eyes.

“Don’t move,” Dan panted. “Please don’t move,” and Lucifer obligingly froze until Dan’s cock softened enough to slip out on its own, wet and red and spent. Dan rolled over onto his chest. “Oh my…” he caught himself just in time, “Devil. That was insane,” he added. “Ow.”

“I’ll get the shower going,” Lucifer said. “Join me when you’re able.”

The thought of hot water on his fresh welts made Dan want to scream, but he was sticky and sweaty and he followed Lucifer into the penthouse’s decadent 8-person shower anyway. And after the first few seconds, the hot water wasn’t even that bad.

“Feeling better?” Lucifer asked, soaping Dan’s back with incredible tenderness.

“Yeah,” Dan said, leaning into the water. “Kinda heavy and sore but… good.” In fact Dan felt more at ease than he had in days, possibly weeks; he waited for reality to intrude on his thoughts and snatch this moment of contentment away from him as it had so many other times of late, but it didn’t happen. Apparently even Dan’s guilt felt like he’d earned this moment. “Although I have no idea what we’re going to do for the rest of the day,” he said. “I’m pretty much spent,” as he rinsed the soap off and stepped out of the shower.

“I’m not even close to being out of ideas,” Lucifer began, but Dan interrupted.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m mortal and forty and if I touch my dick again today it’s going to fall off or something. I’d love to keep up with you, man, but I _can’t_. I don’t think I could have when I was in my twenties,” Dan said. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to get from me for the rest of the night.”

Lucifer gave him a Look as they toweled off. “My dear Daniel,” he said, “Orgasms and sexual satisfaction are separate categories often regrettably mistaken for each other. There are plenty of enjoyable things we could do that don’t involve your prick or depend on your erection.” He stroked his hand over Dan’s shoulder, down his flank. “I don’t need you to have a hard-on to run that Wartenberg pinwheel over you,” Dan shivered, “or take your ass again, slowly this time, or use your hands or mouth. I want you to enjoy yourself, I don’t care if you come. Or if I do.”

“Oh,” Dan said.

“So with that stated plainly,” Lucifer continued, “What would you like to do? Nothing is profane here, nothing is sacred, and nothing is forbidden. Ask, and you shall… well, no, let’s not go _there_. But you know what I mean.”

Actually Lucifer had given Dan an idea of something he didn’t need his dick involved in. “Do you have any coconut oil?”

“Ooh, kinky. Should be some in the kitchenette,” Lucifer said. “In the rightmost cupboard. Next to the artisanal honey. People leave all kinds of things here,” he added, as Dan went to go look for it.

He was back in a moment, with the jar he’d found. “Sit on the edge of the bed,” he said, scooping his fingers into the solid oil and tucking a small amount into his palm.

Lucifer watched him wipe oil over both forearms, and to Dan’s gratification, he very nearly looked _concerned_. “Not that I object, Daniel,” he said, but if you’re in the mood to do some deep exploration, you’re going to want considerably more lube than that.” He paused. “Please,” he added, as Dan got behind him.

“Deep…? Oh. Of course _that’s_ a thing you’ve done,” Dan said, rolling his eyes. “But no. I’m going to see if I can sort out your shoulders for you.” He held the palmful of coconut oil against Lucifer’s warm skin, letting it melt. “I can feel how stiff you still are, I should be able to help a little. Maybe more than a little.”

Lucifer shivered under his hands, like that was the last thing he had expected. “I… that’s… yes. Thank you,” he said, and couldn’t hold back an appreciative moan as Dan’s forearms smoothed over the side of his neck.

Dan had always been good at body work. Useful skill to have, when you worked out and had a physically demanding job; he knew to use his wrists and elbows, not his fingers and thumbs, to give pressure, and he knew muscle attachment points… or, well, he knew them on humans. Lucifer seemed to have quite a few extra shoulder muscles which attached to… nowhere, which was deeply odd but also kind of reassuring. Dan found that he had an easier time with the wings conceptually if they were anchored to reality in some way.

Those odd, extraneous infraspinatus-but-to-nowhere were definitely a Problem Area, which didn’t come as a surprise. But they behaved like any muscles and eventually yielded to the smooth, gliding pressure of Dan’s elbows. He rubbed them out until they stopped crackling under his hands like bubble wrap and Lucifer looked like he was about to fall over with bliss.

“I can do the same thing for your wings,” Dan suggested. “If you want.”

Lucifer, predictably, tensed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “It’s best to limit exposure…”

Dan scoffed, he couldn’t help it. “You’re right, it would be _terrible_ if I saw those again. Or handled them, for three hours. Or stabbed one of them with some sort of cursed demon relic…”

“Fine, yes, all right, you’ve got a point.” Lucifer sighed. “I suppose your brains would have melted yesterday if they were going to. And they could use some tending. I pulled most of the large broken feathers but the small ones were beyond me, I’m afraid. If you’re up for it,” he added.

“Yeah, man, whatever. We’ll put a movie on, I’ll see what I can straighten out for you.”

++++

“Oh, wow,” Dan said. He had looked politely away when Lucifer unfurled, sitting backwards in a chair in front of him while Dan sat on the couch. “Chloe said they looked awful, but they do look a lot better.” Not being able to see naked bone and tendon was a vast improvement by itself, of course. All the bullet wounds were completely closed, nothing but livid pink streaks to show where they’d been, and the impromptu surgical scars that Lucifer and then Dan had inflicted were at least tightly scabbed over and drawing in at the edges to show they were healing. Dan started with these, carefully plucking away the down feathers that had adhered to the wounds, while the opening credits of Weaponizer 2 played. "Of course, she didn't see them before."  
  
Lucifer breathed out audibly as Dan touched him, less a sigh than a slight deflation. "So you did run into the Detective outside," he said. "I wondered. Did you tell her why you were here?"

Dan brushed his hand over a ticklish spot on Lucifer's underwing. “Let me know if I hurt you,” Dan said. “Or use too much pressure, or bend anything the wrong way,” he added, before Lucifer could say anything about being invulnerable. “Or ruffle your feathers.” That got him a snicker. "And, well... she may have guessed why, she's the one who told me to look in the Lucifer Morningstar files, but I didn't tell her, exactly. No." Lucifer shrugged, a gesture that got somewhat elaborate with two sets of shoulders, and leaned back into Dan's hands. 

There wasn’t anywhere on the wings themselves that Dan felt confident enough to work on intensively, given the extent of the healing damage and the alien anatomy. But he felt his way along the bones, applying gentle pressure to assure himself they were healing. At the base of the wings, he was able to get his elbows, wiped clean of oil, into the large muscles and massage some of the knots out of them.

By the time the movie reached the first car chase, he was working on straightening the feathers. “See if you can pull them back into place,” Lucifer advised him. “If the shafts are broken, just pull them out. They’ll come out more easily if you roll them between your fingers first.” Dan worked row by row, pulling and smoothing out feathers, as he and Lucifer took turns saying the film’s memorable lines as dramatically as possible, with points awarded for style and creativity of interpretation, until the end credits exploded onto the screen.

Lucifer stretched his wings out carefully, then folded them. The feathers layered over each other neatly without bending or twisting, and the cramp of overworked muscles compensating for the damage was considerably relieved. “Oh, that’s much better,” Lucifer said, impressed. “Nearly good as new. I never thought of getting a wing massage before,” he said, “although, now that I think of it, a twenty percent tip probably wouldn’t begin to cover it.” Thinking of compensation did remind him of something, though.

He looked back at Dan. “Pull one of the intact ones,” Lucifer said. “A small one. Keep it for yourself. I mean, keep it on you. And don’t show it to anyone.”

Dan couldn’t think of a reason not to. He’d been pulling feathers for half an hour. “Er, for good luck?” he asked, as he selected one, rolled the shaft between his fingers.

“In a way,” Lucifer said, not flinching when Dan tugged it out. “It can heal a mortal wound. And only a mortal wound, so don’t count on it to fix a broken leg or anything. It also constitutes proof of the divine, which I should never ever deliver into mortal hands, et cetera, but it’s not like my Father can be any more mad at me and I would like to know you have it. So keep it safe.”

Dan stared at the feather on his palm. It was maybe a little brighter than a white feather should be, the structure a little denser, but it looked perfectly ordinary, not like the little piece of magic it was. “Wow,” he said. “Um, thank you.” He pulled out his wallet, slid the two pictures of Trixie he kept in it out of their sleeve, sandwiched the feather between them, and put them back. “How’s that?”

“Good enough,” Lucifer said, folding his wings away into n-space again. “Try not to lose your wallet. Up for Weaponizer 3? And I can have takeout sent up if you’re getting hungry. Thai or pizza?”

Dan picked Thai, and the food restored him considerably, although the funeral scene at the end of the first act of the movie made him thoughtful. “What’s on your mind?” Lucifer asked.

To his surprise, Dan discovered he could actually talk about it. “Charlotte’s funeral is in two days,” he said. “And I’m not sure her kids will even want to see me there. I know her friends won’t. And I don’t really have anything to wear.”

Lucifer paused the movie. “You know she’s not there, Daniel,” he said. “Just her body. Meat, now, and not fresh, no matter how many preservatives your mortician ghouls pump into it,” he added, with evident distaste.

Dan felt a flash of anger, but he realized immediately it came from the old Dan, and was directed at the old Lucifer. “Wait,” he said. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

“Human bodies are fun, but they’re ephemeral. Human souls are permanent. Charlotte’s in Heaven. She’s not gone; her flesh was the least important part of her and the reverence for it once she’s done using it is a bit perverse, if you ask me,” Lucifer said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ll get to see her again, if you stop torturing yourself with guilt.” He sighed. “But if you must insist on going to the disposal ceremony, I can help you out there, too. In the morning, we’ll find you a nice somber jacket and slacks. It’ll be no trouble to have it altered in time to fit you; hardly a tailor in Los Angeles doesn’t owe me a favor at this point.”

“Uh… thanks,” Dan said, deciding to let _disposal ceremony_ slide. “That’s… incredibly generous of you.”

“Well, you’ll owe me a favor, of course,” Lucifer said, starting the movie again. “That’s how these things work. After today, I’m sure you can think of some way to repay me.” Dan laughed, and returned his attention to the kicking, punching, and kickpunching.

Dan made it nearly to the end of the movie before he dozed off. He was awakened by the end credits song and by Lucifer’s hand on his shoulder. “You’re welcome to sleep on the bed or the couch,” Lucifer said. “But I thought I’d offer you the choice.”

He stretched. His back felt mostly fine. The only damage he could still feel was the place on his ass where the strikes from the tawse had crossed. He wondered what those would look like in the morning. “Bed,” he decided. “And let’s not tell Chloe about this.”

“How you helped me break in some new leather goods? Or how I suggested improvements to your workout routine?” Lucifer asked innocently.

Dan would have denied that the noise that came out of him was a giggle. “Is that… _reverse innuendo_? How do you do that.”

A few minutes later, after a few necessary hygiene tasks, he felt a confession coming on. ”This was… maybe one of the top five nights of my life,” Dan said, slowly. “I didn’t expect that from the way today started. Thanks.”

“Top five?” Lucifer asked.

“Okay, it was definitely the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Lucifer stretched out, arms folded behind his head, the picture of satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to [GlitterSkullFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterSkullFairy/pseuds/GlitterSkullFairy) for directly inspiring... uh... most of this, but particularly the piano scene, with their delightful OT3 romp [Pudding And Sin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314743/chapters/38162576).
> 
> Who has two thumbs and accidentally wiped their working draft? This guy! The last chapter will be going up sometime soon, probably; I wrote it once, I can write it again. Thank you for reading in the meanwhile!


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